The Cullen Family Players Present
by Feisty Y. Beden
Summary: The citizens of Forks appear in Sweded adaptations of your favorite cheesiest films, musicals, and sitcoms. Highly silly. M for language. No, really, this is really quite silly. You have been warned. So far: Vampire Speed, The Twitrix. More to come.
1. Vampire Speed Part 1: Prelude to a Bus

**A/N: So a bunch of the citizens from Unicornia on Rav have been talking various crossovers. So here is a new fic in which the citizens of Forks end up in delightfully cheesy movies, sitcoms, and musicals. Sometimes they will be vampires, sometimes not. Sometimes they'll be putting on a show, and sometimes there's no show-within-a-show. **

**Standard disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Graham Yost owns the screenplay for _Speed_, from which I've borrowed quite heavily. JayneRulis was the one who said "Vampire Speed," and threadpanda is the one who asked, "Is that the one where they're on a bus and it can't go less than 500 mph… ?" and started this whole thing in my brain.**

**Edward here _may_ be borrowed heavily from Growing Up Cullen.**

**So, without further ado, I present:**

**Vampire Speed **

**Part the First: Prelude to a Bus**

As the second hand hits the 12, it's as if someone's pulled the tail on the prehistoric bird whistle on "The Flintstones." (_*Squawk*! It's a living!_) All the employees at Generic Corporation, Inc. stand in unison and stretch, as if the maneuver had been choreographed and rehearsed for weeks. It's Friday, 5 PM, and these cogs in the machine can't wait to start their dreary weekends—probably hit a few bars, pound a couple of shots, go home with someone who looks or smells good (ideally both), bang like crazy-go-nuts if it's possible to maintain an erection while in their completely hammered state, try very hard to call out the right name if either party should succeed in granting the other a happy, do the walk of shame Saturday morning. Lather, rinse, repeat. Who has time in LA to look for a meaningful relationship? This is a town of Beautiful People, too busy preening to notice anyone but themselves.

They shuffle out single file, like orderly cattle, in their expensive but bland gray suits. They gather by the elevator banks, all queuing up to get on the express elevator. Generic Gray Suit Guy #1 stabs the elevator call button repeatedly, with a ham-handedness that explains why he's never had repeat business from any lady who has had the misfortune of having her call button mashed in this inelegant fashion.

The elevator, unlike Generic Gray Suit Guy's lady companions, comes.

Everyone's doing that thing where no one makes eye contact. There are a few coughs and surreptitious asscrack scratchings. Suddenly there is a loud bang and a sickening snap of a cable. The elevator car shudders and drops a few terrifying feet before the emergency brake catches.

The poor corporate drones are screaming and sizing each other up. They're all assessing the fuckability of the other people in the elevator, if there's enough time to get in one last hump before going to the great beyond. After assessing fuckability, they move onto edibility in case they're stuck in this elevator for a while. Who looks the most like they might taste like bacon?

The corpulent, bespectacled man from accounting feels extremely uncomfortable as he feels ten pairs of eyes suddenly on him at once. He's read _Lord of the Flies_. He knows how these things end. He fights the urge to reach for his asthma inhaler.

Across town, the LAPD has been called. There's been a distress call from the office building of Generic Corporation, Inc. But there's something else, a call claiming responsibility. A raspy voice on the other line says that he's put a bomb on the express elevator, and if his demands aren't met, people will die.

"Bomb" is the magic word that brings in da noise, brings in da SWAT.

***

Edward Cullen, cocksure, knows he looks good in the LAPD SWAT team uniform. He knows his arms and pecs and abs are perfection, so when he was issued his uniform, he asked for a small instead of a medium. He wanted to look _poured_ into the black t-shirt. When he wiggles his right and left pec independent of the other, he wants people to stand up and notice, for fuck's sake. It's harder to look amazing through the big facemask and body armor, but he attempts to dazzle through the protective visor and Kevlar. When he turns on all his charm, you could swear you hear windchimes. Inexplicable windchimes.

Oh yeah, and he's also a vampire.

Was that not mentioned before? Well, he is.

Shut up. He is. Just deal with it.

His partner is Jasper Whitlock, a tough and rugged country boy. He is not a vampire. Jasper is not aware that his partner is a Cold One—and the only Cold Ones with which Jasper is familiar are the kinds that come six to a pack. They make great partners because Jasper mocks Edward's prettiness just enough to keep him in line. Jasper will say things like, "Hey, with those long fingers, I bet you'd make a great hand model. A great _ladies'_ hand model."

Even though Edward is pretty much indestructible, skin hard as marble, unbreakable, he hates to admit how much those words can hurt him. He glances down at his fingers to find traces of femininity in them. He pouts to himself, thinking they look manly. He could snap Jasper's neck with less effort than it would take to pop open a pouch of Capri-Sun, but he doesn't because he wants to be the bigger person, or, um, vampire. He checks himself by looking at his rubber bracelet emblazoned with "WWtDLD?" Man, the Dalai Lama is cool. He wishes the holy dude would just get off his high yak and answer his fan letters one of these days.

Jasper thinks it's odd that Edward seems to sparkle in the sunlight, but he figures Edward's a bit of a fruit who likes body glitter quite a bit more than a twelve-year-old girl. But the dude is good at his job, so Jasper lets the glitter slide. Live and let live.

Or in this case, "live and let stay undead." But he doesn't know that. Yet.

The two are running up the stairwell with the rest of the team and getting briefed by the captain. "So what's the clock, Carlisle?" Jasper asks.

"He gave us an hour. We need to get him three million dollars, or he's going to blow the emergency brakes," Carlisle answers, grimacing. He hopes against hope that one of his men might have a brilliant solution as he asks, "Anything else that might stop this elevator from falling?"

"The basement," says Edward. He kind of takes everything literally.

Carlisle rolls his eyes. Where'd they get this freak? "The city would like to avoid that event, Officer Cullen."

Edward's racking his brain. "Why can't we just unload the passengers?"

Carlisle explains as patiently as he can, "This is an express elevator. The only way in or out is through access panels. And he's wired the hatch to blow if it's opened, which puts him in the crazy but not stupid category."

Edward raises his hand like the know-it-all in elementary school. "Sir! Sir! Officer Whitlock volunteers to check out the device."

Jasper shoots him a look but sighs and follows Edward as he begins sprinting up the stairs.

Carlisle shouts after them, "You're just to observe! We're in a holding pattern. Nothing until you hear word from me, _capisce_?"

The two continue to run up flights of stairs until they reach the access panel nearest the elevator in peril. Edward puts on a harness and lowers himself slowly down the elevator shaft while Jasper looks down from the open panel above. "Damn," Edward begins. "This guy's a pro. I don't recognize the work. But I don't like it."

"So what should we do?" Jasper asks.

"Carlisle told us to hold, so we hold," Edward says with little emotion.

"All right. Pop quiz," Jasper begins. "The airport. Gunman with one hostage. He's using her for cover. He's almost to a plane. You're one hundred feet away."

"Easy," says Edward. "Bite the hostage."

"What?" Jasper is sure he's misheard. "Did you just say, 'Bite the hostage'?"

"No! I said, um, 'SHOOT the hostage.' Shoot. Because biting? That's silly. Who would say 'bite'? A vampire? Ha, ha. Nope, no vampires here. Ha. Ahem." He looks around shiftily, hoping Jasper is buying it.

"Okay," Jasper says, not entirely convinced. "But still: shoot the hostage?"

"Take her out of the equation. Go for the good wound. He can't get to the plane with her. Clear bite, uh, I mean, shot."

"You're clearly nuts, you know. 'Bite the hostage,'" Jasper says, shaking his head as he begins to help Edward back up the elevator shaft.

Edward tugs on the lead, signaling Jasper to stop. "Jasper, this is wrong." Alarmed, Edward looks at the top of the elevator. "He's going to blow it anyway."

"What? How do you know?" Jasper reaches for his walkie-talkie to radio the captain.

"I don't know, gut feeling."

"Well, Carlisle outranks your gut, so stay put."

"Maybe we can do something about those hostages."

Jasper looks nervous when he asks, "You're not going to shoot them, are you?"

***

In Generic Corporation, Inc.'s boiler room, a man with a dingy blond ponytail paces over the body of a security guard he earlier dispatched with a screwdriver in the ear. He's twitchy and anxious and has a detonator in his hand. He picks up his phone again. "I want my goddamn money now!" he bellows.

***

Jasper glances at his watch. "Six minutes."

Edward wants to stay calm, but he's worried about those hostages. "Tell me again, Jasper, why did I take this job?"

"Thirty more years of this, and you get a tiny pension and a cheap gold watch."

"Cool." Edward nods, once.

Suddenly there's another boom, another sickening snap. This time Jasper and Edward are there to hear the screaming. Miraculously, one of the emergency brakes continues to hold on, but time is short.

"He's early! Son of a bitch is early! We have to do something." Edward snakes down the elevator shaft. He wrenches open the nearest floor's doors and does the same with the trapped elevator's doors. There's a steep climb, maybe about five feet, from the elevator to the outer doors they've pried open. He is met with a sea of bewildered, terrified, and bacon-craving people. Edward starts reaching down and plucking up people from the elevator floor as if he were harvesting strawberries. Jasper's already run down the stairs to this floor. He begins to pull up people as well, but with a bit more grunting, having only human strength.

There's a bit of drama with one stupid bitch in the back of the elevator who is too afraid to let go of the railing to leap toward the saving arms above. And yes, the final elevator brake may have started to give way. There's a bit of back and forth with encouraging cheers, stupid bitch headshakes, an inconceivable hole blown in the elevator's floor, and other forms of unnecessary drama, but in the end, she reaches for the arms and is pulled to safety just as the elevator brakes give way. The elevator plummets to the basement, crashing solidly with the concrete foundation of the building. But blah blah blah, everyone's safe, blah.

Edward gives Jasper a high-five when all hostages are safe and being checked out by paramedics. "Is your watch slow?" he asks.

"No. He jumped the gun. He had three minutes left," Jasper says, looking at his watch and shaking it by his ear.

Edward freezes, which maybe isn't saying much since his body is already rock solid and his skin is like ice. He hears someone in his head saying, "Don't fuck with Daddy."

Edward can also read minds. Sometimes. When it's convenient for this story's plot.

Was that not mentioned before either?

No, not all vampires can do that. No, shut up, he just can. Do you want me to finish or not?

Edward says, "He's here."

Jasper scoffs. "What? He could have blown the thing from Phoenix."

Edward says, "He knew we were up to something. He's close by. Really close."

Jasper continues to scoff, "He's not going to corner himself in a building. And anyway, we evacuated. Let's go."

Edward's vampire sense is tingling. "The elevators."

"But the passenger elevators were checked out."

He's already sprinting as he says, "Freight elevators." And because he's a good partner, Jasper dutifully follows him to the freight elevator.

With a ding, the doors open, and the greasy ponytailed man leaps out, already firing a gun. In the mayhem, he manages to collar Jasper and drag him into the elevator. "I don't suppose they'd give me a million dollars just for you, would they?"

Edward doesn't think. He jumps into the elevator right before the doors close. There's a bit of fisticuffs-fu, and Edward has the guy's gun now, trained on his head.

Instead of surrendering, the ponytailed guy laughs. "Hold it!" He opens his leather jacket. "Pop quiz, hotshot. Terrorist holding a police officer hostage. Got enough dynamite strapped to his chest to blow a building in half. Now, what do you do?"

Edward looks at him blankly. As stated, the guy's got a _lot_ of dynamite strapped to his chest. He also seems to have a detonating device in his hand. Edward opens and closes his mouth a few times like a fish.

Ponytailed guy loves this shit. He puffs out his chest and repeats, "What. Do. You. Do?"

The elevator stops, and the doors slide open. "End of the line," he says, as he drags Jasper out with him. "This day has been real disappointing, I don't mind saying."

Edward doesn't miss a beat, continues to keep his gun trained on ponytailed guy's head. "Why? Because you didn't get to kill everyone?" He takes a step every time ponytailed guy does, like a tango, only with extra-manly accessories like guns and dynamite.

Ponytailed guy sneers. "There will come a time, boy, when you'll wish you never met me."

"Mister, I'm already there." Edward takes a few steps out of turn.

Ponytailed guy is having none of it. He waves the detonator around. "I drop this stick ... and they pick your friend up with a sponge." He turns to Jasper and asks, "Are you ready to die, friend?"

Jasper, with as much dignity as he can muster, spits, "Fuck you."

Ponytailed guy rolls his eyes. "In two hundred years, we've come from 'I regret that I have but I have one life to give for my country' to 'fuck you'?"

Jasper's getting pissed. He taunts the guy, "Go ahead. Drop the stick. Do it. And would it kill you to put on a shirt? I mean, I know you're wearing dynamite, but it's still not appropriate office apparel, even for casual Friday."

Edward shouts, "Give it up. You got nowhere to go!"

Suddenly, quietly, Jasper knows what to do. He commands, "Shoot the hostage."

Ponytailed guy is dragging Jasper to the doors leading to the parking garage. "Say goodbye, Jasper."

Edward's been weighing his options, and he knows it's the only thing that will save his friend. He leaps at crazy vampire speed and bites Jasper's thigh. Ponytailed guy is so confused that he drops Jasper, who is writhing in pain and _furious_.

"You fuck! Seriously? You fucking BIT me? What is wrong with you?" Then the pain becomes too much to form words, and he just flops around screaming for a while.

Edward won't be deterred. He continues advancing on crazy ponytailed guy. "Freeze!"

"What, you going to bite me too? What are you, five years old?"

He ignores the question, because the guy's off by at least a century. "Give it up! You're out of options!"

Ponytail makes one final dash out the doors, and Edward is blown back by the blast of dynamite. Good thing he's indestructible, or that would have hurt like a mofo. Huh, so the guy blew himself up. That's weird.

Jasper's still writhing in pain from the bite.

Edward looks quite uncomfortable as he crouches by his partner. "Um, Jasper. Um. I may have accidentally turned you into a vampire."

Jasper manages to find the strength to look Edward right in the eye and hiss, "You _prick_!" before passing out.

* * *

**Next up: The Bus that Couldn't Slow Down!**


	2. VampSp2: The Bus that Couldn't Slow Down

**A/N: Ha, you guys! I'm touched--truly--by your hilarious and kind reviews. Love to the Rav UUs.**

**Standard Disclaimer: Property of Stephenie Meyer (Twilight) and Graham Yost (Speed). And Cleolinda (Sparkle Motion). And the geniuses behind GUC.**

* * *

**Vampire Speed, Part the Second: The Bus that Couldn't Slow Down**

The last few weeks have been a little tense for Edward and Jasper. Jasper is, to say the least, rather irritated that Edward changed him into a vampire without consent. "No means no, man," he keeps saying sadly, shaking his now perfectly shiny and bouncy blond ringlets.

He'd gotten his hair cut just a little too short for his liking the week before his "completely nonconsensual biting encounter" as he refers to it. Without the extra weight to hold the curls down, his hair had been a bit too springy, but as he'd left the chair at SuperCuts, he'd figured that it was only temporary.

When Jasper had come to after three days of writhing and screaming and generally shitting himself, Edward had mentioned that, among other things, his hair would stay exactly the same forever.

"So I'm stuck this way? Great," he says, "now I'm going to look like fucking undead Little Lord Fauntleroy until the end of time. And goddamn it, am I always going to be this thirsty?"

Jasper's blood-red eyes drift toward a plaque from the city of Los Angeles on the wall. "And I can't fucking believe they gave you a _medal_ for doing this to me. Did they really believe you when you told them I'd been _shot_? Even when no one could find a bullet? Dissolving bullets, you said? From the KGB? Jesus, who's stupid enough to buy that?"

Edward ignores the grumbling. He is trying to make Jasper feel better by reading him inspirational quotes from the teachings of the Dalai Lama as he prepares Jasper's lunch. "Ah yes," he says, thumbing through his spiral-bound notebook of quotes. "Here's one that gives me much comfort. 'If you can, help others; if you cannot do that, at least do not harm them.' Does that not soothe you, friend?"

"Don't you dare talk to me about not harming others, you partner-biting freak. 'Do not harm,' _ha_," he laughs bitterly.

"Oh, Jasper, do not be so sullen. You know it was the only way—that madman would have blown you up!"

"Maybe he would have, but … dude. _Dude_. You have crazy vampire speed—couldn't you have taken the guy out and grabbed the detonator before it fell to the ground in the same amount of time it took to _bite me in the fucking leg with your freaky vampire teeth_?"

Edward thinks about it. "Perhaps. Maybe. A little. Oh, I was just thinking in the moment! My only thought was of your safety!" He proffers a squirrel and tries to win Jasper over with the voice he uses to calm newborns—that is, newborn vampires—down. "How about a tasty num-nums? Maybe that'll turn your crankypuss frown upside down." He jiggles the dead squirrel a little, in what he imagines is an enticing fashion.

Jasper is less than pleased with the choice of snack and Edward's twee tone.

He swats the squirrel away from him with enough force to send the poor fucker through the kitchen window of Edward's house, where Jasper has been living since his transformation. He's got terrible cabin fever, but he's been in talks with Carlisle about returning to work any day now. "Squirrels? Really? I mean, they've got—what?—two tablespoons of blood in 'em, tops? And they taste musty. It's like trying to suck juice out of a hotdog wrapped in a tube sock."

Edward gets defensive. "But they're free-range! And look at the sweet fluffy tails! After I'm done with a good squirrel, I like to stuff it and glue it to a piece of driftwood."

And indeed, his house is filled with a disturbing array of stuffed squirrels, dressed and posed in odd tableaux: Here is Washington crossing the Delaware; on the mantelpiece is a squirrel reenactment of the death of Marat in the bath. In the sitting room he's got an all-squirrel version of an Esther Williams water ballet, complete with wee little swimcaps. It took a month of sucking squirrel to have enough to do that one, and it was murder (not literally—we must clarify whenever we discuss vampire shenanigans) to find fifteen wee floral swimcaps on eBay. Some asshole granny had kept poaching the auctions right under Edward in the last minute of bidding. Fucking lot of good it does to be able to read minds if he can't even tell when some granny is trying to outbid him in an eBay auction.

"Dude, do me a favor?" Jasper asks, stomach growling. Damn, if he didn't get some sort of delicious human snack item soon … "Leave me out of your creepy-ass Norman Bates taxidermy hobby."

Edward's hurt. He's been working his stony marble ass off for weeks to nurse Jasper to full vampire health. The least he could do is not insult his completely _awesome_ hobby. "Well, if you're going to be a sourpuss, I am going to go get a cup of coffee."

Jasper calls out after him, "What do you need coffee for? You can't even drink it! You don't even sleep!" He begins to whimper when he remembers he can no longer drink beer. "Crazy-ass, life-ruining, creepy taxidermist vampire piece of shit," he mutters to himself. He opens the freezer to see if there's anything interesting in there today. Fourteen pairs of flash-frozen beady squirrel eyes stare back at him blankly. He slams the door in disgust, breaking it off its hinges with his immense new vampire strength.

When Edward gets home, he's going to punch him in his indestructible vampire taint.

***

Bella Swan is late for work. She gulps down her orange juice and runs out the door, nearly getting choked when the sleeve of her zipped up sweatshirt gets caught on the doorknob and yanks her back. Crap, the bus is already waiting at the corner. She runs, trips, rolls on her ankle, and somehow manages to hook herself onto her neighbor's patio furniture set with her messenger bag, but keeps on running, dragging a chaise lounge behind her.

As she nears the stop, she starts yelling, "Laurent! Laurent! Hey! Wait for me!" She's always late for the bus, but Laurent is a good 'un. He'll wait for her if he can. The doors hiss open as she reaches them all disheveled and sweaty in her floral sundress. She extricates herself from the chaise lounge and runs her fingers through her long brown hair.

"Thanks a million, Laurent," she says, climbing up the stairs and dropping in her fare. "This is my lucky day."

***

Edward walks slowly out of the corner coffeeshop with his half-caf soy latte. He's not sure what any of that means, but it doesn't matter since he dribbles the coffee onto the sidewalk in front of the coffeeshop once he's taken a few deep whiffs of the aroma and pretended to be human for a bit. He likes the ritual of ordering coffee and holding the burning hot paper cup in his ice-cold hands.

Today the manager, while on a smoke break, catches Edward pouring out the coffee and asks him if there is a problem with his order. He is embarrassed and stammers that he is pouring out the coffee "in an urban ritual to commemorate those 'home-chaps'?—erm, 'home-fellows'?—ah, 'home-mies' I have lost." He knew his time spent watching _Flavor of Love_ would not be wasted. He pats himself on the back. _Capital save, Edward. You are, as they say, some sort of bomb, perhaps "the_."

As he pours out the last dribbles of his coffee, a city bus stopped at the corner just ups and blows up. Just like that. It's fireball mayhem, car alarms, and maybe bus driver bits. The payphone closest to him begins to ring.

Edward's curious, so he picks up the receiver.

It's a familiar, raspy voice on the line. "You think if you pick up all the bus driver's teeth, they'll give you another medal?"

Edward just stares at the phone, unable to answer.

"You think I wouldn't have been prepared? Two years I spent setting up that elevator job. Two years I invested myself in it. You couldn't understand the kind of commitment that I have. You ruined a man's life's work and you think you can walk away? You got blinders on to the world, but I got your attention now, didn't I, Edward?"

Edward has finally found his voice again. He says, "Why didn't you just come after me?"

Raspy voice shouts, "This is about me! About my money! Three million dollars! It's my nest egg, Edward. At my age, you've got to think ahead."

"How much do you spend a month in bomb supplies?"

"What?"

"I mean, that C-4 isn't cheap, and then you have detonators, and then all the time you put into making the bombs and casing joints and sneaking into the bus depots or whatever to install them … isn't your time worth more than that? And if you didn't spend all that money a month on explosives, maybe you wouldn't have to be worrying about your retirement."

Edward's got a good point there, but raspy voiced guy, okay, let's cut the shit, it's James, because the bad guy is always James, and I'm getting tired referring to him with adjectives. James. Five letters. Streamlined. Got it? James.

Where were we? Oh right.

Edward's got a good point there, but James isn't having any of it. "Hey! Hey! Daddy's talking now, you punk. Pop quiz, hotshot. There's a bomb on a bus. Once the bus goes fifty miles an hour, the bomb is armed. If it drops below fifty, it blows up. What do you do?"

When James doesn't hear a reply, he repeats, "What do you do?"

Edward's figured out that James maybe isn't speaking in hypotheticals. "I'd want to know what bus it was."

"You think I'm going to tell you that?"

"Yes."

"Very good. There are rules, Edward, and I want you to get this right. No one goes off the bus. If you try to take any passengers off the bus, I will detonate it. I want my money by 11 am."

"We can't pull that kind of money in time."

"Focus, Sparkle Motion! Your concern is the bus. And don't try to call. The radio's down. Now, the number of the bus is 2525. It's running downtown from Venice. It is at the corner of Ocean Park and Main."

Edward takes off running just a bit faster than human speed. He's not quite at vampire speed, as there are too many people around.

***

Meanwhile, back on bus 2525, Bella is making her way to a seat. She sits next to a guy who looks like the sort of person who may be the butt of many a fanfiction. He's got a baby face, blue eyes, blond spiky hair, and a too-eager-to-please expression on his bland face. He can't believe his luck that this brunette vixen with the grace of a newborn colt coated in amniotic fluid and all wobbly on its jelly legs, is choosing to sit next to him.

"Hi," he says, with a great big grin.

Bella politely responds, "Hi."

"First time in LA," says fanfic-joke-butt guy.

"Oh, no. I live here."

"No, I mean mine. Oh, that's just funny. You heard me wrong. I'm sightseeing. I hate to use the word 'tourist,' but it's not like I can hide it."

"Not really." Bella's looking for an escape from this overeager dweeb.

"Aw, jeez. You know, it took me three hours just to get here from the airport. I got so lost. LA is one large place. Of course, you live here. You probably don't notice. I'm such a yokel. There. I said it." He holds out his hand. "Mike. Mike Newton. Although some guys seem to think my last name is Hunt, and that's just weird. Do I look like a Mike Hunt to you?"

Bella sneakily takes out the wad of gum she's been chewing and shoves it onto her seat. "You know what? I got gum on my seat. Gum. Excuse me." She gets up and goes to another vacant seat.

Mike-Hunt-Newton sits back and clasps his hands behind his head, self-satisfied. _Yeah, she wants me_, he thinks smugly.

Bella looks out the window and sees some guy running alongside the bus, like, cheetah-fast. He keeps yelling something.

"Stop! Stop!"

When the bus slows behind some traffic, the guy leaps up—no-joke—and clings to the side-view mirror like a spider monkey.

Bella calls from her vantage point, "Laurent! Don't let this guy on the bus! Don't—" Bella stops mid-sentence, seeing the guy's reflection in the side-view mirror for the first time. Damn, he's kind of cute. "I mean, Laurent, you should totally let him on the bus." Because if a guy's acting like he's on drugs and creepy, but he's super cute, that makes it totally acceptable. Bring it on. She finds some lip gloss in her messenger bag and puts it on, just in case.

The guy hasn't stopped screaming. Now it sounds like he's saying, "LAPD!" But that's ridiculous. This guy is wearing a t-shirt (a bit too tight, but wow, check out the pec definition!) and a plaid shirt over it. That's not standard issue LAPD. Or maybe he's undercover. Well, if he's undercover, then he is the worst undercover cop she's ever seen—honestly, announcing he's LAPD? Totally incompetent! Oh, but cute, she reminds herself. So that makes it okay.

Now he's screaming something that sounds like "Bomb on bus." But that's preposterous! Whoever heard of such a thing? Maybe he _is_ just on angel dust or something. He certainly seems coated in something sparkly. He must have been rolling around in his crazy illegal drugs. Beautiful _and_ dangerous—does it get any better?

"Just open the door, Laurent!" she calls, because the guy is sort of dashingly handsome in that cracked-out, angel dust, sparkly, clinging-like-a-spider-monkey way. She's smitten. She wonders if he's the sort of guy who would oil up her window to sneak into her room and watch her while she slept. _A girl can dream_, she thinks.

She's outweighed, however, by the other bus passengers, who yell more sensible things like, "Don't let him on!" and "That boy ain't right in the head!"

Laurent keeps driving. Eventually the angel dust fiend falls off the mirror.

Edward is losing patience. He's trying to do as the Dalai Lama teaches, trying to help where he can, and these silly _humans_ won't let him on their goddamned bus with a bomb on it! He flags down a Gaysian in a sweet-ass convertible while flashing his LAPD badge and gun.

"Stop! LAPD! Get out of the car."

The driver looks scared, then annoyed. "This is my car. I own this car. It is _not_ stolen, man."

"It is now," Edward says with a grin. "Move over."

"Fuck!" the Gaysian says, sliding over to make room.

Edward slams on the accelerator and tries to catch up with the bus, which has just entered the freeway.

The Gaysian is not amused, but he stops to look, really look, at his glittering carjacker. Damn, he's rather fine. Gaysian says, "Hey, does it turn you on … if I say 'La Push'? A lot? I can say it a bunch of different ways. La Push. LA Push. La _Push_. LA PUSH!"

Edward grips the wheel tightly and recites the periodic table of elements to himself to avoid seeing the images that pop up in Gaysian's head.

Gaysian is still trying to say "La Push" in the magical way that will cause instant wood, kind of like the brown note, but of erections. Edward has passed the bus and pulled directly in front of the front of the bus, car's rear bumper kissing the bus's front bumper. Gaysian stops mid-La-Push a moment to look at the speedometer. "Holy fuck La Push!" he exclaims. "You are going crazy La Push fast La Push for this La Push kind of La Push traffic!" He adds for good measure, "La Push."

"Fuck!" Edward yells, glancing at the speedometer. They're going sixty miles an hour. And if he's going at the same rate as the bus, the bomb on the bus must already have been activated.

"Take the wheel, would you?" he asks the Gaysian. Gaysian complies. Edward turns around and yells again to the driver. "Bomb on bus!"

The bus driver looks at him blankly.

Edward takes the wheel again and yells for Gaysian to take out a piece of paper and a pen and to write "BOMB ON BUS." Gaysian carefully writes, "LA PUSH BOMB ON BUS LA PUSH!" He adds a few hearts and squiggles for emphasis around "LA PUSH." Both of them.

Edward throws the note behind him just so, and the note lands right on the windshield in front of Laurent's face. Fuck, a bomb? Laurent slams on the brakes.

"No!" Edward shouts. He changes lanes and slows down so he is traveling at the same speed as the bus. He makes the universal "roll down your window" gesture.

Laurent has no windows like that, but he opens the door to the bus. Finally!

Edward shouts out, "Stay above fifty! If you go below fifty, you'll blow up!" He exposits to Gaysian, "I need to get on this bus. Oh, also, I'll need your phone."

There's a bit of an action sequence where Edward purposely destroys the door of Gaysian's car and does his own stunts of jumping from the moving convertible to the moving bus. Oh, the suspense! Will he make it? Will he be all right? But you forget: vampire. He's just ducky.

With Edward on the bus at last, La Push-obsessed Gaysian and his car _exeunt_ from this tale.

If you _must_ know what happens to the Gaysian, he calls his insurance company, who gives him a hard time about his policy, because they are dicks. In the end they agree to pay for the car repair, but it still sucks because he has a thousand dollar deductible. However he does have a rental car option, which helps. Unfortunately, the rental place is out of all cars except economy, so he has to try to score dudes in a sensible Toyota Yaris instead of his bitchin' Camaro. He doesn't get any action all week, which is a shame, since he _also_ does all his own stunts.

* * *

**Next: La Push Chagrin and Dazzling in Los Angeles (on a Bus) La Push!**


	3. VS3: Chagrin and Dazzling in Los Angeles

**A/N: Yes, I know canon Edward knows Spanish, as evidenced in BD. But work with me here.**

**Standard disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Graham Yost owns the screenplay for _Speed_, from which I've borrowed quite heavily.**

**

* * *

**

**Vampire Speed, Part the Third**

**Chagrin and Dazzling in Los Angeles (on a Bus)**

Edward straightens up triumphantly once he's securely inside doomed bus 2525. He clears his throat and flashes his badge. "Hello, good morning. My name is Edward Cullen, and I'm from the LAPD. We've got a slight situation with the bus here."

Bella is sitting at the edge of her seat and listening raptly, bosom heaving. His voice is velvety, like a velvety sheet of velvet velvetness from Velvetham, a small hamlet on the edges of the great kingdom of Velvetdonia. She finds herself standing up and walking to him. Oh dear, oh dear. She needs to find an excuse for her sudden proximity. _Oh yes, guys seem to find it adorable when I get uppity and irate—something about an angry kitten?_

She stamps her foot and says, "Excuse me. Ex_cuse_ me. Sir. Sir! You are scaring the shit out of these people."

He looks at her. _Did she just stamp her foot? And tell me off? Why … that's … __**adorable!**__ Why, she's as threatening as Hello Kitty doll with angry eyebrows painted on. Oh, but focus, Edward, focus on the task at hand_.

He looks at her sternly and says, "Ma'am, please! If everybody will stay in your seats and remain calm, we should be able to defuse the problem."

He walks down the length of the bus. A Mexican stereotype is fidgeting in his seat. As Edward passes him, he tenses up and shouts, "Get away from me!"

Edward can hear Mexican Stereotype's thoughts, but they're all in Spanish. Edward doesn't watch a lot of Telemundo, and the extent of his Spanish is "Yo quiero Taco Bell," which is a bit ridiculous since he doesn't eat Taco Bell. Because: vampire. In case you forgot. He says in a soothing tone, "I don't know you, man. I'm not here for you."

Mexican Stereotype is not soothed. He draws his Saturday Night Special. Edward isn't afraid of the gun, but there are people on this bus whom he has vowed to protect. He reflexively draws his gun out as well. And now we have a Mexican standoff, which is probably fitting, since Mexican Stereotype is involved.

"Let's not do this," Edward says, trying to give Mexican Stereotype his most dazzling look.

Mexican Stereotype thinks, _¿Madre de dios, oigo carillones? _Out loud he says, "Stop de bus!"

Edward says as patiently as possible, "He _can't_ stop the bus. Look, I'm putting my gun away, OK?" He slowly begins to lower his gun. Mexican Stereotype eyes him warily.

Edward furrows his brow and tries to concentrate on Mexican Stereotype's thoughts. He's fucked unless the guy starts thinking about chalupas and possibly gorditas. "Now, listen. I don't care about your crime. Whatever you did, I'm sure that you're sorry, so it's cool now. It's over. I'm not a cop right now."

Edward stoops down and places his gun on the floor. "See? We're just two cool guys, well, technically one cool guy and one cool vampire, I mean, did I just say vampire? I mean, ha ha, who would say that? Anyway, yes, we are two cool vampires—FUCK!—I mean, two cool vam—aaarrgh—two … cool…" Edward pauses to make sure he thinks it through and says the right word, "va—oh, motherfucker, two cool v—GUYS, yes, GUYS just hanging out."

A big linebacker-looking passenger has been creeping up behind Mexican Stereotype, trying to find an opportunity to grab him and force the gun out of his hand. Edward sees Linebacker Guy and tries to shake his head slightly to tell the guy to back off, that he's all over this shit.

Mexican Stereotype is completely befuddled and mumbles, "¿Que es 'vguy'?" Linebacker guy takes the opportunity to grab Mexican Stereotype in a big bear hug, but in the mayhem, the _sábado noche_ Special goes off, clipping Laurent in the shoulder. Edward and Linebacker, whose name is Emmett McCarty (you'd already figured that out though, right? With the linebacker and bear hug and all?), pin Mexican Stereotype to the floor. Edward whips out his handcuffs and cuffs Mexican Stereotype's hands behind his back.

While the Mexican Stereotype is getting man- and vamphandled, Bella rushes forward to see if Laurent is okay, tripping over someone's foot. Despite windmilling her arms around furiously to regain balance, she ends up falling with all her weight right onto Laurent's gunshot wound. "Whoops, sorry, sorry," Bella says.

Laurent says something that sounds like, "Aughgraamrrngmotherfuckergna!"

Bella takes the wheel from Laurent and tries to nudge him gently out of the way. Oh gross, she just noticed that her hands are all covered in blood. She tries to wipe them discreetly on Laurent's uniform as Laurent's eyes roll into the back of his head.

"Laurent, look at me! Look at me!" She grabs Laurent's face and stares right into his eyes. When she's certain he can see and hear her, she says, "This is very important—now listen to me carefully: do you have any moist towelettes up here? I got blood on my hands! It's disgusting and sticky and smells like old pennies! Because I can smell blood! That makes me special! Also you've got to get your foot off the pedal! Someone, help me! I've got to stop this bus. I need moist towelettes. Does anyone have any? Seriously, it's disgusting, like I just ate a bucket of ribs."

At "stop this bus," Edward rushes to the front. "No! Don't stop! Stay above fifty!"

Bella glares at him over her shoulder. "Laurent's been shot! We've got to get him some help!" She adds hastily, "And moist towelettes."

Edward yells, "You slow down, and this bus will explode!" A few passengers scream.

For the record, Mike Newton screams like a woman. Actually it sounds like the climax of "Loving You Is Easy 'Cause You're Beautiful." Miles away, dogs start barking.

Edward continues, "There is a bomb on this bus. If we slow down, it'll blow. If anyone tries to get off, it'll explode."

Bella tries to take advantage of Edward's double entendre. "Oh baby, I _bet_ it'll _explode_ if anyone tries to _get off_." She bats her eyelashes coyly.

Edward looks at her blankly. "Yes, that is what I just said." _Is this girl mentally challenged?_

The other passengers aren't buying it. Emmett says, "Bullshit. Some funny joke, man."

Edward says, "I don't make jokes." He really doesn't. Jasper still hasn't forgiven him for that night he dragged him to the open mic at the comedy club.

Bella calls over her shoulder, "He's bleeding so much. I don't know what to do. Honestly, no one has some moist towelettes? For a dying man? Really?"

Edward looks between the bleeding shoulder and Bella at the wheel with chagrin. "Miss, can you handle this bus?"

"I'm fine. Just tell me what the plan is. _Is_ there a plan?"

With more chagrin, Edward sighs, "Just for you to drive. We're OK for now. Just keep us above fifty."

Bella nods. After a spell, she says, "So, you're a cop, right?"

"That's right."

"I should probably tell you that I'm taking the bus because I had my driver's license revoked."

"What for?"

"Speeding."

Oh, what delightful and unexpected irony! The two of them throw their heads back and laugh and laugh and laugh. They freeze mid-laughter, waiting for credits to scroll past their faces. Then they remember that they're not in a seventies-era cop sitcom, so they clear their throats with embarrassment and resume their actions as if nothing had happened.

***

Back at the house, Jasper has decided to go to work. Fuck this noise. He tries to put on a shirt, but he rips right through it, Incredible Hulk-style. Twelve minutes later, half the contents of Edward's closet are in tatters by Jasper's feet. Jasper tries to muster up some feelings of remorse but finds that it is impossible. Jasper finds two extra large sweatshirts at the back of Edward's closet. He lays them on the bed. One has a giant _Lion King_ head; the other says, "I *heart* the Dalai Lama." Motherfucker. He chooses the Dalai Lama one and gingerly pulls it over his head. He rolls his eyes and slinks out the door.

The minute he steps outside, he's hit with a wall of delicious aroma, outrageous flavor, if you will. Oh my hell, it smells amazing. His mouth waters. _Must not eat pedestrians_, he thinks as he walks briskly toward the station. _Protect and serve … on a platter with biscuits and gravy. No! Don't be a carnivorous douche!_

When he gets to the station, it's chaos. Officers are rushing around, the press is outside, trying push their way in, and the phones are ringing off the hook. He finds Carlisle and asks what's going on.

"Whitlock! You look like hell!"

He sighs and hangs his head. "I know, sir."

"Are you sure you're okay to be back at work?"

"I never felt better. Please, Captain, I'm going nuts at home. I'll do anything—collate, file, make coffee. I just needed to get out of the house."

"No need for that, Whitlock. There's a bit of a situation—come have a look."

He leads Jasper to a TV that's running a special report: Bomb on City Bus. A reporter says, "Eyewitnesses say that moments ago a Los Angeles police officer boarded the bus by jumping onto it from a moving car."

Jasper says, "That wouldn't be … Cullen, by chance, would it?"

An officer from the front desk shouts, "I've got Cullen on the line—he's on the bus."

Jasper sprints to the phone. "Edward. Dude. The hell?"

"Jasper? Why aren't you at home? You know you're in no condition to be around people."

"I'm _fine_, Edward, no thanks to you."

"Okay, well, just be careful. _Coworkers are not snacks_. Say that back to me."

"Coworkers are not … fuck no, I'm not going to say that back to you!"

"Okay, fine. I need your help with this. What can you tell me about this bomb?"

Jasper thinks for a minute. "Did you check the speedometer? Has it been fucked with or loosened? See any wires or anything?"

Edward excuses himself to Bella and looks at the speedometer. For good measure, he ducks underneath the steering wheel to see if there is anything amiss.

"No, it's clean," he says from under Bella's skirt.

"Thanks for noticing!" Bella giggles.

Jasper rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Then it's going to be under the bus. Probably was rigged to one of the axles."

"I can't get under the bus right now. It's kind of in motion."

From the floor, Laurent hoarsely whispers, "Excuse me!"

Edward crawls over to him. "Yes?"

Laurent points and rasps, "Access panel... in the floor. Underneath you, man."

Edward uses a pocketknife to jimmy the panel open. Mike Newton hovers nearby. Edward hands him the phone. "Sir, take this. I want you to tell him what I see."

"OK," he says warily, not wanting to trust a guy wearing that much hair gel. _Might be one of those ho-mo-sex-uals_, he thinks.

Edward braces himself and leans as far as he can out of the bus. After examining the axle, he yells, "We got a wad! Pretty big!"

Dutifully, Mike relays, "There's a pretty big wad."

From the front of the bus, Bella snickers.

"Brass fittings!" Edward continues.

"Brass fittings," repeats Mike.

"I think I can reach the circuit wire."

"He can reach the circuit wire."

Jasper jumps. "No, no. Don't do that. That's a decoy. Classic."

"That's your classic decoy," says Mike.

"What else?" asks Jasper.

"What else?" Mike passes on.

"Hold on," says Edward, stretching as far as he can.

"Hold on," repeats Mike.

"Fuck me!" hisses Edward.

Mike pauses and says, "Oh, darn." He won't swear in front of ladies.

Edward pulls himself back up and takes the phone back from Mike. "Jasper, there's enough C-4 on this thing to put a hole in the world."

Jasper's feeling better than he has in weeks, even if lives are in danger. It's like a breath of fresh air to be using his brain again. "OK, all right. Just stay calm. What else?"

"Three triggers... one on the axle I can't really see, a cellular remote and a timer running off a wrist watch."

"A watch? What kind of watch?"

"Gold band. Fairly cheesy."

From the front of the bus, Bella yells, "Officer!"

Edward ignores her. "What's on your mind, Jasper?"

"Shit. What do I do? OFFICER!" Bella bellows.

"For the last time, ma'am, I do _not_ know where moist towelettes might be. I'm not even sure what they _are_."

"No, look! What should I do?"

Edward finally looks where Bella is pointing—bumper to bumper traffic ahead. "Get on the shoulder."

She complies. She sees an exit ahead. "Um, stay on or get off?" she asks tentatively.

Edward does some vampire-fast physics calculations involving taking the second derivative of some shit. "Off! Off!"

Bella cocks an eyebrow at him, "So you want me to get off, do you?"

"Yes, that's what I just said." _Seriously, does this woman have brain damage?_

Bella takes the exit and finds herself on clear residential streets.

Back at the station, Jasper is pacing. "I don't get it. The watch is a shitty timer. Why use it? What's he saying?"

"Lots of people have watches, Jasper," says Carlisle.

Jasper's not satisfied. "This guy has no MO. A bomber falls in love with one kind of bomb, and they're very monogamous. This guy uses C-4, dynamite, different trigger every time, and now he throws in this watch. He's a Wikipedia of bombs." Jasper thinks a minute about the watch. It's familiar, just like the crap-ass ones they give you at the station when you retire.

"I want to look at the files for the last ten years," Jasper says.

Carlisle shakes his head. "We did the mug shots. It's not going to help."

"No. I want to look at cops."

There's a moment where everyone who hears Jasper pauses and thinks, "DUN DUN DUN!"

Carlisle gets on the phone with Edward. "Listen, I'm going to try to clear the roads for you. In a few blocks, take a soft turn to the right. I've got some units waiting for you there. They're going to lead you to the freeway. It's not in use. It'll be empty. You'll be totally clear."

Edward responds, "Got it." To Bella he says, "In a few blocks, we'll take a soft turn to the right."

He's not paying attention as Bella sees some cranky old bitch pushing a stroller across the intersection.

"Oh God!" Bella shouts.

Edward sees the cranky old bitch frozen in her tracks as the bus comes barreling toward her. "Son of a bitch!" he adds unhelpfully.

Bella is able to swerve to miss C.O.B. but totally whams into the stroller, which goes flying, sending a shitload of hard-boiled eggs everywhere. She covers her eyes with one bloody hand. "Oh, Jesus! Oh, God! I hit the baby!"

Edward shakes his head. "Eggs! There was no baby. It was full of eggs."

"Seriously? Eggs? Why the fuck did that old bitch have a baby carriage filled with eggs?"

"Some things are best not explained," Edward says—naturally—with chagrin.

Carlisle comes back on the phone. "You got an entrance coming up, Edward. It's going be a real ugly turn, though."

"How ugly?" asks Edward.

"Who's ugly?" Bella asks worriedly.

"We got a hard right coming up at the construction site. This should be it," Edward answers.

There's another action sequence here involving a sharp right turn and everyone on the bus panicking. Laurent's still bleeding slowly, Bella still wants moist towelettes, Edward still doesn't understand a word of Spanish, Mike still screams like Minnie Riperton. Bella pulls through, though, and the bus is now on the freeway, crisis passed, aside from the whole bomb-on-bus thing.

Edward nods and says, "Ma'am, you did very well. Actually, you were incredible. I've never seen driving like that."

"Bella."

"What?"

"It's my name. Bella."

"Bella," he repeats.

"As opposed to ma'am."

"OK."

"Now take off your pants."

"What?" Edward sputters.

"Um, nothing," mutters Bella, eyes focused on the road.

* * *

**Next: The Bus that Couldn't Follow the Laws of Physics!**


	4. Bus that Couldn't Follow Laws of Physics

**A/N: Several things that happen in this chapter were at the request of ladies from Rav UUs. Enjoy. Thanks to Ceci for help with Spanish.**

**Standard disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Graham Yost owns the screenplay for _Speed_, from which I've borrowed quite heavily. Any resemblance of names to FFn usernames is ****_purely coincidental_ (TwirlGrrl, I'm looking at you).**

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**Vampire Speed, Part the Fourth: The Bus that Couldn't Follow the Laws of Physics**

Back at the station, Jasper is still trying to put the pieces together. They've come up with no leads for LAPD officer in the last ten years who is missing a thumb. (Did I not mention that he was missing a thumb? My bad, it was in my head. What, you can't read minds? What kind of vampire are you?)

Jasper thinks of something. "Wait—he might not be LAPD. What if he was in the force in some other city and relocated here? I want you to start going through the pension fund. This guy's drawing disability. He may not be LAPD, but he's living here now. I want pictures! I've seen this asshole."

Carlisle is on the phone with Edward again. "Cullen! I want to get these passengers off this bus!"

"I can't do it, sir!"

"This is no time for your sparkly macho bullshit, Cullen."

"I'm not giving you sparkly macho bullsh—hey, I don't sparkle!" he says petulantly.

"Yes, you do, Cullen."

"No, I don't."

"You do, Cullen, just get over it. It's okay. We're all grownups here."

"DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT SPARKLE NEENER NEENER!"

Carlisle grimaces and takes a moment to collect himself before responding. "Fine, Cullen. You don't sparkle. May we continue?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, Sparklypants, it is our duty as police officers to get those civilians out of harm's way."

"Sir! I was given orders. If we move anyone off the bus, he'll see! Remember: crazy, not stupid," he says, echoing Carlisle's words from Chapter 1. He adds under his breath, "_And I don't have sparkly pants; you're the sparklypants, Captain Sparklypants_."

Carlisle sighs. "Look, Whitlock is trying to find out who this guy is. We think maybe he's a cop."

Edward thinks, "A cop? I never would have seen that coming! DUN DUN DUN!"

A nameless officer, one who is hoping to earn enough credits from this project for his SAG card, waves his arms frantically in the background to get Carlisle's attention. "Sir! He's on the line! He wants to speak to Cullen."

"Edward!" Carlisle barks.

**A/N: Omigod, before you inundate me with PMs and stuff, Carlisle is totes not a werewolf okay? Like, "barks" is totes a verb that is used for, like, people too. I saw it on Oprah. And no, it wasn't an episode about werewolves.**

"Ahem!" Carlisle says, looking annoyingly at the author of this fanfic. "Before I was so _rudely_ interrupted—"

**A/N: Omigod, can you believe some people are so sensitive? Is it, like, his time of the month or something?**

**A/N to the A/N: Omigod I'm totes not saying Carlisle is secretly a woman just because I insinuated that he was on his period.**

"Sweet mother of god, can I finish?" says Carlisle in exasperation, tapping his foot impatiently.

**A/N: Yes.**

**A/N to the A/N: No. I mean, yes.**

"Okay then! Edward! Bomb Guy wants to talk to you."

"Give him this number."

Carlisle shouts over his shoulder to SAG-Credit-Seeking Officer, "Give him the number!"

A few moments later, Edward's phone rings. "Hello?" he says.

"Knock-knock, Neo."

"What?"

"Sorry, wrong movie. Got confused a second. So, hey, I thought we had a trust thing going on here, but on TV it looks like you're trying to get those passengers off the bus."

"Look, man, you've got to let me have one."

"We went over the rules, Edward."

"As an act of faith. We have an injured man here—the bus driver's been shot."

"Edward, Edward, Edward, don't tell me you've been shooting—or biting—any of the passengers."

"This man has no time!" Edward paces like the random lion from the video for "Like a Virgin."

**A/N: Omigod, did you see WHAT I DID THAR?**

"Did someone say something?" James asks, looking around for the source of that booming, omniscient, yet completely irrelevant voice.

"Just ignore her. She's highly excitable," says Edward, rolling his eyes.

Bella breathes heavily, "I sure am, Officer. Highly." She thrusts her boobs out as much as she can while handling the bus's gigantic steering wheel.

Edward looks at Bella in puzzlement. _Should I let her drive the bus? She's clearly touched in the head or something_. To James he says, "Well? The driver is bleeding, man."

James yells into the phone, loudly enough so that pretty much everyone on the bus can hear, "NO ONE GETS OFF!"

Bella giggles, "That guy's clearly never been sitting directly over the back wheel on the bus on a bumpy road. Am I right? Am I?" She takes one hand off the wheel in search of a high-five from Edward but is met only with his blank expression. She then searches in the rearview mirror for some sort of acknowledgment from the other passengers. No one makes eye contact with her. She grumpily takes the wheel with both hands again.

Edward sighs. "It'll grease the wheels with the money men if you show some charity. There's still going to be plenty of us to kill."

James considers this for a second. "OK, son, you can try and unload the driver. But you tell that fork behind the wheel not to slow down, though, or he won't even get a chance to bleed to death." He hangs up the phone.

Edward calls Carlisle and reports, "He's letting us unload the driver."

A flatbed truck with a bunch of SWAT team guys pulls alongside the bus. They've been following the bus just for this possibility.

Edward announces to the passengers, "We're going to get the driver off."

Bella pouts, "Just him?"

Edward looks at her blankly, and speaks extremely slowly, because he's pretty convinced now that she has sustained some head trauma. "For now." He calls to the back of the bus, "Gigantor!"

"It's McCarty," says Emmett.

"McCarty, we're going to need your help. I need you to pass him to me. Keep him straight, or I think the wound will tear."

Emmett nods and leaps up to help.

An old biddy with saggy tits whines in an annoyingly nasal voice, "What about the rest of us?"

Edward would normally ignore her, but something tells him to pay more attention to her thoughts.

He scans her mind and hears her think, "I shouldn't be on this bus; I would have been home ages ago if I'd just walked, and I need to check on my auctions." God, even her thinking voice is nasal and twattish.

He continues to eavesdrop on her inner monologue. "I have to get home and outbid that stupid **dalailamafanpire**."

At the mention of his eBay username, Edward's ears perk up. He sidles up to the woman and puts on his most dazzling smile. "Excuse me, ma'am, this may seem a bit odd, but do you by chance have an interest in small, squirrel-sized clothing?"

Saggy Tits narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Maybe. I _might_ own a squirrel, and I just _might_ like to dress that squirrel in charming outfits and post photos of him on the Internet. You're not with the ASPCA, are you?"

"Me? Oh, oho, oh no. I just … it's, um, important to the investigation. We must look into all leads. And some of the leads involve small, squirrel-sized items of clothing."

He looks Saggy Tits over. He's 99.99% certain that this is **SqrrrrrlGrrrrrl**, the old eBay granny bitch with whom he has engaged in many a bidding war. It is taking all his self-control not to grab her bony old fingers, twist them off, and stick them in her eye sockets. He imagines himself saying, _Oh, excuse me, ma'am, but you seem to have something in your eye_.

Edward glances at his WWtDLD bracelet again and takes a few centering breaths. _Get yourself together, Edward! He would not approve of such unseemly behavior._

A moan from Laurent further brings Edward out of his murderous rage.

The rage has passed. "McCarty!" he calls. "Let's do this!"

"I'm right with you, Chief," says Emmett.

We're going to gloss over the rescue effort because I totally can't remember how they get the bus driver from the bus to the truck. But it happens. Laurent's fine.

**A/N: Oh yeah you totes don't need to worry about Laurent because he gets to the hospital in plenty of time, makes a complete recovery, falls in love with one of his nurses, accidentally gets her pregnant, but then they get married, and their baby goes on to invent Toaster Streudel, LOLZ!**

From the flatbed truck where paramedics are attending him, Laurent shouts at the sky, "Geez, no spoilers! What the fuck is your problem?"

The SWAT team on the flatbed truck has also put a thick board between the bus and the truck, making a makeshift bridge. No one seems to notice **SqrrrrrlGrrrrrl** getting up from her seat and making her way to the front door of the bus. She's mumbling to herself, "Gotta outbid that motherfucker."

No one notices, that is, except Edward. "Excuse me, ma'am!" He grabs her by the arm. "You can't get off the bus, because …" He stops mid-sentence. What the fuck is he doing? Why is he stopping her? This solves all his problems. He gets a wicked grin on his face. "I mean, please, let me help you to the front."

He leads her to the makeshift bridge between the bus and the SWAT team's truck, and then hightails it to the back of the bus. He whistles nonchalantly and twiddles his thumbs a little too casually.

Right as **SqrrrrrlGrrrrrl** begins to stop onto the bridge, Bella notices her. "No! No, Lauren, don't do it!"

"I'm sorry, Bella, but I have to," she says, sadly shaking her head.

From the truck, the SWAT guys are waving her over. "Come on! Give us your hand! We got you!" they say encouragingly.

From above, news helicopters are filming the whole thing.

As soon as she steps on the board, there is a gigantic **KABOOM**, and there are old lady bits flying all over. Limbs, dentures, girdle, bone shards, possibly a spleen.

"Noooooooooooo!" screams Bella. "No! Lauren! Lauren Mallory!" She begins to sob uncontrollably.

Edward runs back to the front to get a better look. He checks himself for feelings of guilt: none. He looks out the open bus door as bits of Lauren Mallory aka **SqrrrrrlGrrrrrl** continue to rain down. Edward thinks, "A++++++++++ WOULD DEFINITELY WATCH EXPLODE AGAIN!"

A big hunk of, well, probably her torso, lands in the shoulder of the highway. A pack of wild dogs starts snacking on the remains of Lauren Mallory. Several vultures swoop down and perch on her exposed ribs and peck away as well.

Bella is still a mess. It's not really about that old saggy-titted broad, who smelled like a walking STD. Her sniffling draws Edward's attention.

Because it's the polite thing to do, he pats her awkwardly on the head and asks, "Are you all right?"

She says, "When that bomb went off..."

He nods understandingly, "I know."

She continues, "I thought that was it. I thought that was the bomb, and I was dead. And when I saw her body fall under the bus, it was like..."

"You were glad you were still alive."

She bites her lip. "Mm-hmm. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Edward says. "You should be glad. We all are. I, for example, want to throw a fucking parade. But that doesn't mean you don't care."

"I know, but she was so scared. And she smelled like a walking STD."

Edward puts on his Sensitive Guy voice. "She was scared. She was a nice lady who didn't deserve to get killed, except for her habit of _poaching goddamned eBay auctions_, but if she'd gotten off, it would have killed us all."

"Ew," Bella says, "if she'd _gotten off_, I think that _would_ have killed us all. I don't even want to think about it. What would be involved with an operation like that? Does Geritol make a vibrator or something? Or, like, Jitterbug? You know, those people who make the cell phone for old people?"

Edward has no idea what Bella is saying, but at least she has stopped crying. "He's the asshole, Bella, the guy who put us here. Remember that. A great big asshole."

"I could say a few things about a big asshole," she says, waggling his eyebrows.

Edward really does not understand this woman in the slightest.

Edward's phone rings. It's Carlisle.

"Edward, listen, big trouble."

"What is it?"

"The freeway you're on? It's kind of, uh, not finished."

"What?"

"There's a gap in the road ahead."

"Well, how big we talking?"

"Ohhhh, just, _mumblemumble_ feet."

"I'm sorry, Carlisle, I didn't quite catch that."

"Fifty. Fifty feet."

"Son of a bitch!"

"What? What is it?" asks Bella.

"The, uh, freeway has a big gap coming up in a few miles."

"Well, what if I, you know, put the bus in neutral and ram the accelerator?" She giggles, "And then maybe _you_ could ram…"

Edward cuts her off. "Wouldn't work. He would have thought of that."

"Well then what? What do I do?"

Edward says, "Floor it."

Bella thinks, _This is the stupidest fucking plan I've ever heard. It's a good thing he's cute._

Edward explains, "It's an interchange. There might be an incline. Floor it."

"Fine." She jams her foot on the accelerator.

He walked up and down the aisle, instructing the passengers, "Everybody, hold onto your seats or whatever you can. When we hit the gap, heads down."

"That's it?" asks Emmett.

"That's it?" asks the Newton.

"¿Es todo?" asks Mexican Stereotype.

"Das ist alles?" asks some German person we haven't met yet, just because I wanted to throw some German in there.

Everyone's looking pretty darn tense as they approach the big fucking gap in the freeway. Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes … the bus _speeds_ to the gap and … inexplicably … shoots up at like a forty-five degree angle even though the road is at, like, a fifteen degree incline, tops. Through a series of slow-mo and cuts, the bus clears the gigantic gap.

Everyone hoots and cheers as the bus lands safely on the other side of the gap. High-fives all around.

"But, but, wait," says Mike Newton. "That didn't make any sense. How could the bus leap up like that? The road's practically flat."

Emmett says, "Don't question it, dude. We made it."

That's not enough to quiet the Newton. "But … _physics_! D = (Vf + Vo)*t/2 where D is the distance, Vf is the final speed, Vo is the initial speed, and t is the elapsed time! And, um, some other impressive-sounding formulas! Bernoulli effect! Newton's laws of motion!"

Emmett stands up and begins walking toward the Newton. "Well, if you don't shut it, I'm going to subject you to McCarty's Laws of I Beat the Crap out of You."

The Newton says something that sounds roughly like, "Meep."

Emmett sits back down.

The bus continues to trundle along. Somewhere, by the side of the road several miles back, the dogs and vultures continue to nibble the torso of blown-up Lauren Mallory.

Back in Edward's home, the email alert on his computer beeps: **You've won eBay Item Squirrel Lederhosen NWT**.

* * *

**Next: Some Pretty Awesome Exploding Shit!**


	5. Some Pretty Awesome Exploding Shit

**A/N: The ladies from Rav UU rock my socks. Thanks for the reviews! Puffy hearts for all!**

**Standard disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Graham Yost owns the screenplay for _Speed_, from which I've borrowed quite heavily. **

**

* * *

Vampire Speed, Part the Fifth: Some Pretty Awesome Exploding Shit**

Edward's just noticed that Bella seems to have hit her head at some point during the implausible bus jump that defied Newton's Laws of Motion but followed to a T McCarty's Laws of I Beat the Crap out of You. Her forehead's got a little cut in it. Edward clenches his fists at the yummy, yummy aroma of fresh Bella blood, far more tempting than Laurent's _flesh wound_, comma, _it's just a_. Nothing against Laurent—sure he smells tasty, like Chick-fil-A, but Bella … Oh My Edward, Bella smells like freesia or bacon, or possibly freesia made out of bacon. But not bacon made out of freesia, because that would be silly. Who wants that? Nobody.

**A/N: Okay so this one time? At the Internets? I was on this website? And they were selling underpants made out of beef jerky that cost $100! They had rivets n' shit. No, the rivets weren't edible, although I suppose they could have made them out of Life Savers or something. **

Edward unclenches his fists—the distraction of the booming, irrelevant voice annoys him enough to distract him from the tempting cured-porcine-product-evoking freesia scent. He gently wipes away the delicious bacon-blood with the sleeve of his flannel shirt. When he thinks Bella isn't looking, he sucks the blood off his sleeve. Oh, wow. Seriously, _wow_. It's a good thing head injuries bleed more than a bucket full of pig's blood at prom, because he's back again and again for another taste, using his sleeve and Bella's bleeding forehead like Fun Dip.

His _ministrations_ do not go unnoticed by Miss Bella, who says, "Sparklypants, if you have a thing for blood, you should check me out in about four days, because I'm set to ride the cotton pony then."

"You possess a … pony … made of … cotton?" Edward says in puzzlement. He adds hastily, "My pants aren't sparkly! Why does everyone keep _saying_ that?"

Bella licks her lips. "They'll be full of sparkly manchowder when I'm done with you."

Edward pulls himself up to full vampire height. "Listen, madam, I mean, _Bella_, first of all, I do not _sparkle_. At the most I'll grant that I may _scintillate_ due to my witty repartee, but _sparkle_ I do not. Secondly, I am not a chef, and certainly not one from New England, and if I were to cook chowder, I'd most certainly keep the glitter out of it, because that just seems unhygienic."

Suddenly, Edward sees a sign and tenses up. "Quick!" he yells. "Get off!"

"What, now?" Bella asks, looking back and forth between Edward and the general vicinity of her mossy grotto. "I think I need two hands on the wheel, don't I?"

"Do it! Now!" yells Edward.

"Um, okay," she says, giggling a little. "You police officers sure do have some weird crisis management protocols." She takes one hand off the wheel, hikes up the skirt of her sundress, and plunges her hand down her Hanes Her Way panties.

**A/N: Are there canon panties? I totes don't know if there are canon panties.**

This time even the Booming Voice of Irrelevance can't distract him. "What. Are. You. DOING?" asks Edward in horror.

Bella reluctantly removes her hand from her panties. "I … I thought I was following orders. Also, because of this stupid bus thing, I missed Second Whacking. It's just about time for Elevenses, so I thought, two birds with one hand."

While Bella's rambling on about her rather disturbingly frequent masturbation schedule, Edward grabs the wheel with a bit too much force for the bus's current speed. "Pull in _here_," he says with irritation.

He's led the bus into the service entrance of the airport. The bus jumps … some sort of gate thing and enters a taxiway.

Carlisle radios with his team on the flatbed truck. When he learns that the bus is now at the airport, he says, "That's my boy, Edward! He can circle the runways for time."

SAG-Card Officer says, "But, sir, our helicopters can't fly into that airspace!"

Carlisle says smugly, "Yes, but neither can the news helicopters."

The news helicopters think to themselves, "DUN DUN DUN!" and fly away.

Mike Newton looks out the window and says glumly, "We're at the airport."

Emmett McCarty says, "Yeah, so?"

Mike sighs. "I've already _seen_ the airport." Mike's about to say something else, but he sees Emmett curl his big man fingers into a big man fist. Mike's micropenis curls into microfetal position.

Edward's phone rings. It's James. "Very exciting, Edward. Some close calls, but you've done all right for yourself."

"What do you want?"

"Money, Edward. I wish I had some loftier purpose, but in the end I'm just like you and me. I'd like large, non-sequential bills in two clear plastic bags. Unmarked. Can you remember all of that?"

"What are you telling me for?"

"I want you to help me get it before it's too late. I don't like negotiators, Edward. They talk to you like they're your best friend, and they don't know you. Why do they mess with me? Do they think I'm doing this for fun?"

"Aren't you?"

"Oh, that's not fair, Edward. You don't know how I feel about this."

Clunky honkytonk piano chords swell. Edward looks around nervously. "What the hell is that? Can you hear it too?"

James doesn't answer the question. Instead he starts singing, "_You don't own me; I'm not just one of your pretty toys. You don't own me … don't say I can't go with other boys_."

Edward says, "No. Oh no. We're not doing this."

James continues to sing over some heavy string orchestration, "_And don't tell me what to do!_"

"Seriously. No. This is not a musical. _Speed_ was not a musical. Genres. You're doing it wrong."

"_And don't tell me what to say!_"

"This. Is. UNACCEPTABLE!" Edward screams over James' raspy singing.

"_And please, when I go out with you, don't put me on display!_"

"_Go out with you_? What?" Edward peers up to see the story header. "Does anything up there say 'slash'? Because I definitely didn't sign on for this." He notices everyone on the bus staring at him. He shuffles and stares at his feet. "Uh, not that there's anything wrong with that."

Edward clears his throat and tries a different tack. "Do you want this money? Come on; show me your commitment. Let me get on the ground. Just me. That's not against the rules."

The music stops abruptly.

"All right. I'd like you back in ten minutes or less."

"Or fewer," Edward says automatically.

"Excuse me?"

"Minutes are quantifiable, so you should use 'fewer,' not 'less.'"

From the back of the bus, Mike Newton pipes up, "He's right, you know."

Emmett cracks his knuckles menacingly. Mike resumes micropenis microfetal position.

James says, "Do not attempt to grow a brain."

Edward says, "That doesn't even make sense. _I'm_ the one correcting _your_ faulty grammar, and—"

"Do you want me to sing again?" James interrupts.

"No, sir."

"Ten minutes or less," James repeats.

Edward cringes. "Fine."

Bella says, "There's a plan now, right?"

"Something like that." He pauses to address the whole bus. "All right, folks, I'm going to get off the bus for a minute."

There are some murmurings and looks of concern.

"Don't worry; I won't go far." To Bella he says, "Just keep circling. You'll be just fine."

At the thought of Edward's imminent departure, Bella starts speaking in spurts and grunts. "Huh? What? Are you ser— … uh … _no_ … How? Uh … I don't even know what you're say— … no! No! You can't … what? No, you can't leave me!"

Edward looks at her. Is she having a seizure? Should he try to make sure she doesn't swallow her tongue? He reaches forward and shoves his fingers into her mouth. Bella stops sputtering and starts making porny sounds while going at his fingers as if he were a mechanical dairy-calf-feeding-machine thingummy. What? I never did 4-H.

Edward snatches his hand back. "What are you _doing_?"

Bella gets huffy at the removal of mouth object and snaps, "What are _you_ doing?"

"Well, I was _trying_ to make sure you didn't swallow your tongue."

"Baby, that's not all I can swallow," she says, batting her eyelashes at him.

Edward just looks at her and blinks. This woman makes very little sense, but at least he's pretty sure she's not having a seizure. He shrugs and turns to face the open bus door.

The LAPD truck is waiting, and Edward leaps like the fancy vampire he is and lands with cat-like grace next to Officer Garrett, the team leader. The sun's out full force now, and Edward is pretty fucking glittery. Even with Ray-Bans on, Garrett has to shield his eyes from the glare.

"Cullen! Geez!"

"What's wrong, Garrett?" asks Edward.

Garrett is about to rail into Edward and his excessive use of glitter product, but he doesn't want to get sent to sensitivity training again. Twice in one month was enough. Jesus, he's sorry he used all those ethnic slurs during the baseball game at the company picnic, and he's sorry he honked Officer Stanley's ta-tas like a bicycle horn during the team-building exercise. Motherfuckers can't take a joke. Shit, he probably can't even say "motherfuckers" anymore—they'd say it was … Miss … Miss somebody. What was that name they kept bringing up at that stupid fucking sensitivity workshop? Miss … Miss O'Gynistic, that's it. Fuckin' Mick bitch telling him what to do. He supposes he'll have to use the term "maternal-unit-fornicators" or some shit instead. Fine. Fine. That ought to keep Miss O'Gynistic off his back.

"Garrett?"

"Oh, ahem. Nothing, Cullen. I was just thinking that we ought to get those passengers off the bus now that the choppers are gone."

"No way. He's ready for that."

"But how is he—"

Edward cuts him off. "I don't know how. I just know he is. He's been one step ahead of me every time. If we unload, he'll take them out; I guarantee."

"Where does that put us?" God, the sparkling is really distracting. Garrett wonders if Edward tastes like spun sugar.

"I've got to try to dismantle that bomb."

"That's not an option, sugarlips—I mean, Cullen." Whoa, where did that come from? Garrett makes a mental note to go punch some hobos behind the rail yard after his shift.

"I think I have an idea," Edward says with a dazzling grin.

Garrett, hit with the full force of the Dazzle, is suddenly woozy. He hisses, "_Maternal-unit_-_fornicator_."

Back on the bus, Emmett is talking to Bella. "I'm _telling_ you, Cullen's somewhere jerking off."

"Really?" Bella says huskily. "That's hot."

"No, Bella," Emmett says patiently. "I mean, I think he's not coming back."

"Was ist das?" says Random German Person of Convenience from Chapter 4, pointing out the side of the bus.

"Oh My Edward," breathes Bella.

The LAPD truck has pulled in front of the bus. It's dragging a wooden dolly behind it, upon which Edward, in full SWAT gear, headset, and tools, is standing like a waterskier.

Garrett's wearing a headset as well. He says, "We're not going to be able to hold the this steady for long."

Edward answers, "If I can't figure it out in a few minutes, I can't figure it out at all." He fiddles with his headset and says, "Jasper, are you with me?"

Jasper's voice crackles back, "All the way."

Garrett says, "Okay, this is it. Don't get dead."

Jasper laughs bitterly at the irony. Edward slowly lies down on the dolly.

"Craptaxi," Bella says, watching Edward disappear under the bus. "As much as I'd love having Edward check out my undercarriage, I think this is a really bad idea."

Edward's under the bus and looking directly at the bomb. He says into the headset, "Okay, the timer's looped to the remote, then feeds out."

Jasper thinks a minute and responds, "Then we have to bypass the remote current with the battery. Can you find the trip wire for the remote?"

"I don't know. I have a few choices here."

"Black and red?" guesses Jasper.

"And green."

"Okay. I need you to look at the wire."

"It's covered."

"I know. You have to cut off the sheath, but don't cut the wire. Start with the green one."

There's some bomb mumbo-jumbo as Edward scrapes the plastic coating off, hooks up a battery, and says something about a collapsible circuit. I have no idea. I'm not Wiki'ing any of this shit. Standard Hollywood bomb-defusing-attempt montage happens.

In the middle of this exchange, Officer SAG-Card runs to Jasper. He's waving a printout with James' face on it. "James Fisk. Biloxi PD, bomb squad, retired to Sun Valley in 1989 when a small charge left him with nine fingers."

Jasper looks at the printout. "That's the guy." He says to into the headset, "Edward! We found him!"

Officer SAG-Card says, "We can be at his place in fifteen minutes."

Jasper says, "Edward, get out of there. We're going after the source."

Edward says, "Garrett! I'm ready to come out now."

There's another implausible action sequence, which I'm just going to sum up because I want to get to the cool exploding shit. Basically, some debris gets under the tire, Garrett can't pull up the dolly, everyone thinks the bus has run Edward over, he falls off the dolly and scrambles to hold onto the bus by shoving his screwdriver into the bus's gas tank, gas spills all over him, and Emmett ends up pulling Edward back into the bus through the floor panel. Go, Team Bus.

We resume the action after Edward brushes himself off and resumes his position at the front of the bus by Bella.

Bella sniffs. "What's that smell?"

"Oh, erm, it's gas."

"We're leaking gas?"

"I guess we are now, yeah." He gets on his headset to Garrett. "Hey, can we get a fuel truck here? I think we're leaking gas."

"How much time until you run out?" asks Garrett.

"I don't know, ten minutes?" Edward is starting to get a little antsy. He mutters under his breath, "Come on, Jasper; find this James guy."

Just then, Jasper and his quickly-assembled team—Officer SAG-Card, Officer Stanley, and, oh, let's say another two folks I will choose at random from the Twilight Lexicon: Felix and Bree, whoever they are—pull up in front of a modest, unassuming house. The team is all in SWAT gear. They check the house out in standard formation. As the venetian blinds in the window are drawn, they can't see inside. Jasper motions for Bree and Felix to go around the back. He takes SAG-Card and Stanley around the side. Stanley is about to try the doorknob, but Jasper grabs her hand and shakes his head. He motions for her to follow him to the back of the house, which she does. SAG-Card follows.

Jasper tries a window, and it's unlocked. He slides it open and slithers inside. He motions for the others to follow him, which they do. As he walks through the house to investigate further, he looks down just as his leg trips an infrared beam by a doorway. A red light comes on.

There is a big fucking explosion. Finally!

Ka-boom! Crash! Fire! Mayhem! Body parts! Carnage! Oh, the humanity! Oh, the vampirity!

Jasper lands roughly on his back about twenty feet from where the house once stood. Appendages of his former teammates land around him. He stands up and brushes himself off. Well, that sucked.

But hey! He's still alive, or undead, or whatever. Jasper's head starts to swim. What … is this enchanting odor? He looks around. Oh, the body parts. His former colleagues. They smell charbroiled delicious. He always did appreciate a good barbecue. Surely it would be all right if he had a taste, if they're already dead, right? He cautiously picks up the closest arm and takes a little nibble. Oh My Edward! Scrumptious! He takes bigger and bigger bites and soon goes into a total feeding frenzy. He's just a Tasmanian-devil-like blur as he goes from body part to body part, sucking the bits clean and moving onto the next. Fuck Edward, and fuck those stupid fucking squirrels. Man's—no, fuck—_vampire's_ gotta eat. Fuck yeah. This is _awesome_. _Fuckawesome_, even.

Back on the bus, Edward's phone rings. "Jasper! Tell me the good news."

There's a long pause before James speaks. "I'm sorry, Edward, he didn't make it."

"You FUCK!" Edward yells.

James says, "It was the watch that led him to me, wasn't it? It felt a little hammy, building the bomb from my previous retirement gift, but I figured a sign that said, 'I'm James Fisk' would be pushing it."

We see that he's inside a tall apartment building. He was never in that house at all. Slick motherfucker, no?

"Your buddy Jasper is gone, Edward. Accept it. You and I both know he was the brains behind this operation, so you may as well accept that you're not going to beat me. You're going to pay up. Otherwise you, the fork, and every innocent soul on that bus are going to end up just like your friend. Now pay attention. Are you listening, Edward?"

Edward pinches the bridge of his nose in a most canon-like gesture. "Yes."

"Good. Tell them the drop point is Pershing Square. There's a garbage can on the northeast corner. Dump the bags and leave. I don't show up until your people are gone, and I don't disarm until I'm clear."

Edward hangs up. He needs to blow off steam, so he does what any of us would do: runs to the back of the bus and punches Mike Newton in the face.

"Edward?" asks Bella, watching him with concern through the rearview mirror.

"This bus is going to blow the fuck up," Edward says.

"I … come on, there's no possible double entendre in that statement. I don't know what to do," Bella says, sounding panicky.

Edward looks at her, suddenly noticing her sweatshirt, which has a large embroidered fork on it. He runs back up to the front of the bus to examine it further and says, "Well, I'll be damned. I mean aside from the whole no-soul-because-I'm-a-vampire thing."

"Vampire? What?" asks Bella.

"Gah! I mean, I'll be damned. You … you went to Forks High?"

"Yeah…" She has no idea where this conversation is going.

"The Forks High Forks, yeah?"

"Yeah, and?"

Edward smiles, dazzle-meter only up to maybe six. "He can see you."

She starts to ask, but he shushes her, looking around the front of the bus. He spots a one-way convex mirror with a small camera hidden behind it. He points at it.

He leans in and whispers in her ear, "He called you a fork before. Twice, actually. I didn't even pick up on it. That bastard has a camera right in your face. He's been playing me from minute one."

We cut to James' lair, where he's watching the footage from the camera on a small black and white monitor.

"He's … looking at me? He likes to watch?" She giggles. "Can he hear me?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, what do I do? Should I make out with a chick?"

Edward looks at her blankly, blinking a few times. "Just act scared."

Bella pouts, "Well, that's no fun. Wait, give me a minute to make this hot." She takes a deep breath and flutters her eyelashes. "Oh, big bad man! Don't hurt me! I'm so … _vulnerable_!" She shakes her tush as much as she can manage from her sitting position.

Edward looks at her blankly again.

He radios to Garrett. "Hey, are there any news vans still around?"

Garrett says, "Yeah—what do you have in mind?"

Edward says, "I have a cunning plan."

Bella giggles, "I _heard_ you're a cunning linguist."

Edward will never understand this crazy fork.

Garrett runs over to a news van. "Can you broadcast onto a UHF frequency?"

News van guy says, "Sure."

"Well, there's a frequency coming off that bus—can you find it?"

News van guy fiddles with some knobs and finds it. Garrett says, "Good, now tape that."

Inside the bus, Edward is instructing the passengers, "Remember, no big movements. Just look whipped." Before Bella can say anything, he hisses, "Just can it for the next couple minutes, okay?"

Edward has just noticed that the fuel gauge is dipping faster. "Garrett," he radios, "I don't think we can wait for that fuel truck. We have to get these passengers off."

"Praise Jesus, finally!" says Bella.

"Run the tape," Edward says, ignoring her.

Garrett protests, "We only have a minute of—"

"Do it!" Edward yells.

Garrett says to the news guy, "Run it. Run it on a loop."

Back in James' hideaway, he's in the kitchen, peering into the fridge. "Where's my damn pudding cup?" he asks, annoyed. In the living room, the grainy image on the black and white image jumps and switches to the loop they've taped inside the bus. James gives up and returns to watch the monitor.

Meanwhile, inside the bus, Bella's flipped the switch that opens the emergency door in the back of the bus. Garrett passes Edward a two-by-four and some rope to rig the steering wheel. Edward busies himself with that while the LAPD dudes on the truck unload the passengers. Mike Newton almost slips during the transfer, but Emmett catches him and pulls him onto the truck. It's a bit of an _awww_ moment, and Mike looks at Emmett with shining eyes. "I … I didn't know you _cared_," he says in wonder.

Just so there's no misunderstanding, Emmett punches Mike in the face.

Edward finishes rigging the steering wheel and gas pedal and asks Bella if she's ready. She leaps up and straddles him, nearly knocking him over. Criminy, this woman. But, oh, her delicious bacony scent is all around him. Delicious, delicious woman of bacon.

He shakes his head to focus, breathing only through his mouth. He threads the floor panel, which he's secured to one of the bus seats with the rope from Garrett, through the hole in the floor. It's skidding under the bus. With Bella still wrapped around him like the bacony outside of a Beef Wellington, he leaps lightly down onto the floor panel. He quickly unties the rope, and they go skidding underneath the bus and emerging unharmed on the other side. The bus, now out of gas, slows and crashes into an airplane getting refueled. The bus hits the airplane just as it dips below 50 mph. The bus EXPLODES! KABLOOEY! The plane goes KABLOOEY too! This is ZOMG awesome!!!!!1!!11

Safely away from all the fireball of supreme awesomeness, Edward considers Bella, whose legs are still wrapped tightly around his waist. What is … this emotion stirring between his legs? And by "emotion," I mean "penis."

"Are you all right?" he finally asks.

"Are you going to get mushy on me?" Bella asks.

"What? What? I … that never happens!" he says, mortified.

Bella rolls her eyes. "Honestly, not everything I say is sexual, you perv."

Edward stammers, "Oh, ahem, of course, beg pardon, I didn't mean to offend."

Bella laughs, "I'm kidding! _Everything_ I say is sexual! Now fucking kiss me already, Officer Sparklypants."

Edward starts to say, "I don't have sparklypants," but Bella interrupts him with a kiss. Girl's ferocious; what can I say?

Their several moments of girl-on-vampire macking are interrupted by Edward's phone ringing. Bella fidgets, trying to find the phone with her crotch because it's buzzing pleasantly.

Edward shoves her off gently and answers the phone. "Yeah?"

"Edward?"

"Jasper!" Edward says with relief. "Jasper, what's going on? James said you didn't make it."

"Dude. Vampire, remember? Geez, you're dumb sometimes."

"Of course, of course," Edward says sheepishly. "Well, what about the rest of your team? SAG-Card? Stanley? Those other two from the Lexicon?"

It's Jasper's turn to be sheepish. He hangs his head with shame. "I made you a SWAT team, but I eated it."

**

* * *

Next: The Denouement that Wasn't!**

**

* * *

A/N: I know I don't normally put an A/N at the bottom of CFPP, but I'm sorry about the ethnic slur up there. I like Irish people. Oh, and for serious, I did once find beef jerky underwear on Etsy.**

**References to Bella's delicious bacon odor are from Growing Up Cullen, "Wiki'ing that shit" belongs firmly to angstgoddess003, and "riding the cotton pony" comes from the Onion's list of menstruation euphemisms, which is beyond awesome ("Ol' Cap'n Bloodsnatch," etc.) and worth Googling.  
**


	6. VampSpeed 6: The Denouement that Wasn't

**Standard disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Graham Yost owns the screenplay for Speed, from which I've borrowed quite heavily. **

**

* * *

Vampire Speed, Part the Sixth: The Denouement that Wasn't**

Edward stands like a slack-jawed yokel as he takes in what Jasper's just told him. "You … _eated_, I mean, _ate_ them? Have you forgotten Asimov's First Rule?"

"The fuck? I'm a vampire, Edward, not a robot." Jasper rubs his belly and fakes a yawn. "Dude. Edward. I think I gotta go. You know when you eat a mess of ribs, and you just need a good nap?"

Edward starts to pace. "First of all, no. I have no idea. Second of all, you're not going to get out of this so easily. I know vam—" Edward cuts himself off as he notices Bella looking at him, perplexed. "_Robots_ don't sleep." He drops his voice to a whisper and cups his hand over the receiver so as not to be overheard. "Do you have a plan? I mean, you are going to need a story."

Jasper rolls his eyes so hard that he's sure Edward's heard it over the phone. "I told you. I made you a SWAT team, but I eated them. Write that down on the fucking report. Fuck all y'all. I'm done." As he says, "I'm done," he flourishes his free hand in a drama queen fashion.

"But what are they going to _think_?" whimpers Edward. "You're going to ruin everything!"

"Look. I'll gather up all the bones and put them on this nice fire. They'll just assume we all burned up all … delicious … and charbroiled … mesquite-smoked …"

Edward clears his throat.

"Sorry, I mean, they'll assume we all died. I'll walk the earth or some shit. Do all the stuff I meant to do before you _fucking bit me_. I always wanted to go on a tour of the Dr Pepper factory in Dublin, Texas."

"So. So this is goodbye?"

"Guess so," Jasper shrugs.

"I'm … I'm going to miss you. You were a good partner."

"Yeah, well. Before, I thought you were a fruit, and now I just think you're kind of a dick. So."

Suddenly Edward wails, "You're my best friend!"

Jasper coughs. "Seriously, dude, let it go. I'm outtie." He hangs up the phone and tosses it over his shoulder, not looking back. He breaks into a run at full vampire speed. Fuck yeah, this feels good.

It isn't until he crosses the border into Arizona that he remembers that he'd promised himself he was going to punch Edward in his unbreakable vampire taint. "Fuck!" He turns around and starts jogging back west.

Edward stares at the phone in disbelief, lip quivering slightly. During the course of the conversation, he's walked away from Bella and the paramedics who are waiting to check them out. He sees Bella doing some provocative deep knee bends for one of the medics. He feels that emotion once again stirring in his pants. And by "emotion," I still mean "penis." Right. He rushes to stand by her side. He drapes his arm across Bella's shoulders and gives her a little peck on the cheek.

Right then Garrett runs to them from the SWAT truck. "How are you doing?" he asks.

Bella giggles, "I think the question isn't _how_ I am doing but _who_ I am doing. Or rather, _who_ I am _going_ to do."

Garrett looks at her with a little confusion, so she indicates Edward with her head, makes an "O" with her left hand, and sticks her right index finger in and out of the hole of the "O" repeatedly.

"Criminy," says Garrett, shaking his head. "Well, then. Ahem. Maybe I'll let you have the rest of the day off."

Random SWAT guy runs up to Garrett with a phone. "It's him. He wants to know when he'll get his money."

Garrett snatches the phone and says, "That son of a bitch. I'll tell him what he can do with—"

Edward shakes his head. "Sir! He doesn't know it blew up."

Garrett nods and says to James, "Twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes later, we're in Pershing Square, just as various snipers and such position themselves in little hidey-holes all around. A garbage truck pulls up to the corner. A man hops out, but instead of emptying the trashcan there, he throws two bags into it. Some more cops skitter into position around the trashcan, waiting for James to make his move.

James observes the scene with much amusement from above in his apartment lair. As he steps out the door, he takes a final glance at the TV showing what he thinks is the feed from the camera he placed on Bus 2525. On the monitor, he watches Edward standing by that Forks High Fork driver.

"Too bad, Edward. You probably would have made a good cop," he says.

On the screen, Mike Newton drops his man-purse. There's a glitch, and the man-purse is back in his hands. James' eyes grow wide as he realizes he's been had. He watches the loop again and again, the man-purse in Newton's hands, now not, now there, now gone. He tips his head back and roars in fury. When frustrated, James has an odd habit of yelling out names of famous physicists. For example, during the explosion that took his thumb in Biloxi, James yelled, "Foucault!"

As he watches the man-purse appear and disappear, he doesn't know how right he is when he screams, "NEWTON!" at the top of his lungs.

Edward and Garrett are observing the street from inside a storefront with the blinds drawn. Bella is hanging out a little away from the scene, sitting in the back of an open ambulance, swinging her legs, and licking a popsicle one of the paramedics was sweet enough to fetch for her. The guy also brought her a six-pack of pudding cups, which she shoves in her messenger bag. She thinks of Edward and deep-throats the popsicle. She isn't aware that the paramedics are staring at her from a distance with a mixture of awe and horror.

A cop sidles up on her. "We can't have you so close, Miss. We need you to move back."

"But Edward said—"

"Officer Cullen asked for you to be brought out of harm's way. Let's just move back." The cop looks into Bella's open messenger bag as he gently takes her arm. Seeing the pudding cups, he says, "Oh. You brought a snack."

Holy crap on a stick, it's JAMES! DUN DUN DUN! He smiles as he leads her away.

Edward and Garrett are still watching the trashcan and waiting for James to make his move. Edward fidgets anxiously.

Garrett looks at his watch. "11:02. He's late."

Edward shakes his head. "He's not late."

"What?"

"He's never late."

"That money hasn't moved. We've got two hundred eyes on that can. We've got a homing beacon in the bags. He's covered."

Edward commands, "Turn it on."

Garrett sighs and flips a switch on the … monitor thing. The monitor shows a moving blip. The bags are moving.

"Shit," Garrett says, but Edward's already gone.

He's made a mad dash for the trashcan. He pushes it over, discovering a big hole cut into the concrete which leads into a utility access tunnel.

"Son of a bitch!" he hisses. Without thinking, he drops into the hole. His vampirey senses are tingling. Also his penis. He hears footsteps hurrying away and pulls his handgun out (by "handgun" here, I mean "handgun"). He follows the sound and soon is on the heels of a shadowy figure holding the two bags of money and tottering away.

"Freeze!" Edward yells, gun drawn. "Turn around!"

The person stops.

"Pop quiz, asshole. I got a hair trigger aimed at your head, and I'm in a really shitty mood. What do you do?"

The person turns around slowly. It's Bella.

Edward just stares.

Bella opens her sweatshirt, revealing ten pounds of C-4 strapped to her chest.

"Dalai Lama," Edward says, which really means he's in shock, because he tries not to take the Dee Ell's name in vain.

An emergency door in the side of the tunnel opens. James steps out, holding another one of those detonator sticks.

"Be prepared, like the Boy Scouts say."

"I'm sorry, Edward," says Bella.

"What do you do, Edward?" asks James. "You can't bite her."

Edward considers how tasty that would be before shaking his head. "Let her go."

"Don't think so." He drops a bag by Bella's feet. "Fill it," he commands.

Bella looks at him in disbelief. "Ewww. I mean it. That's gross. I'm into some freaky shit, but I don't poop in bags. I mean, you haven't even bought me dinner. And you ate all my pudding, you jackhole!"

James rolls his eyes. "The money. Fill the bag with the money."

"Oh!" she says. "Okay."

To Edward, James says, "I think Jasper would be disappointed, finding us right back where we started."

"Let her go!" Edward pleads. "You got the money. You won. Take the money and go. You don't need her."

"You still don't understand, Edward. The beauty of it. A bomb is made to explode; that's its meaning, its purpose. Your life is empty because you spend it trying to stop the bomb from becoming. And for what? For who? You know what a bomb is, Edward, that doesn't explode? It's a cheap gold watch."

Edward can't help himself. "Whom," he corrects.

"What?"

"For whom. Object of a preposition. And that's a stupid fucking analogy. I mean, it doesn't even make sense."

"Sucks to your grammar," James says, as he opens a door, runs through it with Bella, and slams it in Edward's face.

Edward tries the handle, but the door is locked. He starts to shoot the handle off, but then he remembers his crazy vampire strength. Hulk SMASH! The door's open, and he runs through it.

He looks around to find himself in … a subway station. LA has a subway? What? Okay, just go with it.

He sees commotion ahead and runs toward it, figuring it's got to be Bella and James. As he sprints, he spots them getting onto the subway that's just pulled into the station. Even with vampire speed, there's no way he can reach their car before the doors shut, so he runs onto the closest subway car, knowing he'll figure out a way to get to the front.

In the front car, James handcuffs Bella to one of the vertical poles. Bella giggles the whole time. "You're _bad_," she says, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

He hands her the detonator stick. "Trust me; you don't want to drop this."

Bella's face lights up. "Ooh, battery operated!"

James watches her in horror. "No! That's not where it … goes. Christ." He gags a little.

He's distracted as the subway operator opens the door, hearing all the commotion. The subway operator is surprised to find this crazy nine-fingered guy and a girl with a shit-ton of C-4 strapped to her chest doing … ungodly acts with … he doesn't know what. Before he can say "What the fuck?" James plugs him full of bullets.

Two of the bullets end up hitting the control panel of the subway car. This might be important in a few paragraphs.

Edward's been making his way up the subway cars, and he gets to the front car just in time to see James disgustedly extract the detonator stick from Bella. James pats his pockets, looking for his bottle of Purell. "No respect for people's property," he's muttering.

Edward sneaks behind some seats while James squirts Purell all over the stick.

James is still muttering darkly as he wipes the stick off. Bella looks bored.

Edward POUNCES in what he thinks is a studly vampire way. James is knocked to the floor, but he laughs. "What _was_ that? Are you in _Cats_?"

"What?" Edward pouts. "That was _cool_. _Virile_. Cock of the walk."

"Whatever there, Rum Tum Tugger."

Edward has HAD IT. He punches James in the face.

James laughs again. "You're such a curious cat."

Edward says, while punctuating with punches to James' face, "Do [punch] not [punch] quote [punch] Andrew [punch] Lloyd [punch] Webber [punch] to [punch] me!"

He's actually knocked out most of James' teeth. He's about to go in for another punch when fog fills the subway car. Edward hears bamboo flutes and a big popping sound.

"_Edward_," he hears. He looks up to see the source of the sound, and Oh My Dalai Lama, it's the Dalai Lama, sitting on a prayer mat and floating in the air.

"Mr. Lama! Sir!" If Edward weren't a vampire, he'd be pissing his pants right about now.

"_Edward, be kind whenever possible. It is always possible_."

"But this guy is a right bastard!"

"_Edward, in the practice of tolerance, one's enemy is the best teacher_."

"Fiddlesticks," says Edward, and he lets his fist drop to his side. Gotta listen to his home-fellow, the Dee Ell.

He checks James. Oh crap, he's already dead. "Oops," he says, looking up at His Holiness. "My bad."

With another popping sound that sounds remarkably like a tongue clicking in disapproval, the Dalai Lama is gone.

"Come back, Dee Ell! I have so much to learn! Noooooooo!"

"You okay there, Edward?" asks Bella.

Edward sniffs and nods, heading to the control panel of the subway. Might as well stop this thing now that James is dead. Oh, but wait. All the controls are shot to hell. The radio doesn't work. He shrugs. It's hard to give a shit now that he's been dissed by his hero.

He heads back to Bella. "The controls aren't working. We'll have to jump."

"No can do, Sparkles." Bella shows him the handcuffs that keep shackle her to the pole.

Edward easily could snap the handcuffs apart, but he doesn't want Bella to know about the whole vampire thing yet. Maybe after a few dates, maybe. He looks up at a subway map. They're nearing the end of the line. In a few moments, they'll hit the concrete barrier. But wait—the track curves ahead …

He quickly does some vampire math and vampire physics, neither of which follows our silly, limited human rules.

He snaps his marble fingers. "Go faster."

"What?"

"The only way to stop this thing is to make it go faster. Trust me."

"Since you're not ugly, I'll take you at your word," Bella says huskily.

It's another implausible sequence as Edward makes the subway go as fast as it can. It jumps the track, and the car slides onto its side, ending up on the street and in a crowd of tourists.

Somewhere across town, Mike Newton says, "That didn't make any sense!" A cab pulls up, and Emmett emerges, running up to Newton and punching him in the face before hopping back into the cab and zooming away.

The tourists snap photos of Edward and Bella as they pull themselves out of the rubble. Edward and Bella regard each other lustily. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asks Bella.

"I can't read your mind," says Edward with some frustration. "But I think we should have relations now."

"Exactly," says Bella. She looks around, suddenly recognizing where she is. She says, "Hey, I live down the block!"

They make a mad dash for her apartment, shedding clothes along the way. As they enter her apartment Edward reaches a hand up to cup Bella's full—

Grapefruit. Big and round. A woman in bifocals squeezes them, sniffs them. She's got one in each hand, trying to feel the weight in her palms. These will do. She tosses them in her grocery basket.

Edward runs his hands up Bella's legs, hooks his thumbs in her canon panties, and slides them down. He slips a finger inside—

"There's a typo in the advertisement," the publicist complains. "It says _Slick Folds Five_, and it should be _Ben Folds Five_; everyone knows _that_. I mean, 'Slick Folds'? What does that even mean?"

Bella screams in ecstasy, and as she comes down, she tears Edward's sparkly vampire underpants—

**A/N: AHA! He was wearing sparkly pants this whole time!**

Bella glares.

**A/N: I mean, carry on.**

She tears Edward's sparkly vampire underpants in two, bends down and wraps her mouth around Edward's throbbing—

"Hotdogs! Get yer fresh, hot hotdogs!" the vendor yells at the ballpark. "Franks! Weenies! Big weenies!"

"Bella," Edward moans. "You'd better stop, because I'm going to…"

"Yes, love?"

"I mean, shit, I'm going to … _gnnnaaaa_!" Edward pulls Bella off just as he—

_Kersplat!_ "Got you!" The paintball gun leaves a huge stain on the front of Sister Margareta's surplice. She rolls her eyes. She hates the annual eighth grade student/faculty paintball game. That paint stains. One year one of the kids nearly got her right in the eye, too. So inconsiderate. Heathens, all of them.

"Ooh, big boy," says Bella. "You look like you're ready for another round. Why don't you take that big detonator stick of yours and shove it in my—

"Glory Hole! Tours of the old Glory Hole Saloon!" barks the tour guide, his sleeves rolled up in arm garters. This old timey faux-Western town is so goofy, but the guy's got student loans to pay off. If he could do it again, he wouldn't have gotten that second master's degree in symbology. Shit, was that even a field? Did Dan Brown just make that shit up for that book? He should have listened to his mother and just gone to med school. He sighs and decides to get his sandwich. No one's very interested in the Glory Hole today. God, he wishes he were dead. He opens his well-worn copy of _Moby-Dick_. "Call me 'Well and Truly Fucked,'" he mutters, as he begins to read. He reaches into his lunchbox and—

… pulls out of Bella's tight, wet pussy to unload his hot, sparkly vampire semen all over her—

**A/N: Oh crap, I did that one backwards. **

Bella and Edward, all orgasmed out, lie back on her now completely glittery sheets. There's a knock at the door. Bella wraps one damp, spoogey sheet around herself and answers the door.

"Is Edward there?" asks a guy who for some reason is wearing Groucho Marx glasses.

"Yeah," Bella says, opening the door wide to let the stranger in. Why does she let in this guy she doesn't know? Well, he seems to know Edward, and she's hoping for a threeway.

"Edward!" she calls out. "You have a visitor."

Edward pulls on his t-shirt. The shirt is just long enough to cover his vampire dangly bits. He doesn't bother with the sparklypants because they've been torn in two. He walks into the living room. He can't believe his eyes. Even with the Groucho Marx glasses, he recognizes the man-pire.

"You came back! I knew—_oof_," he gasps, as Jasper lands a punch right on Edward's unbreakable taint.

As Edward doubles over, trying to get his breath back, Jasper nods at Bella.

"Well, my work here is done," says Jasper, turning around and walking out the door.

He whistles the theme from _Gunfight at the O.K. Corral_ as he breaks into a run. If he goes at full vampire speed, he'll get to the Dr Pepper factory before sundown.

~_ Fin_ ~

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Next: I'm not sure yet! Leave me a note if you have suggestions. I have a few ideas up my sleeve.**


	7. Twitrix 1: The Search for the Or Wad

**A/N: Thanks for taking a spin on the wild ride that was Vampire Speed. We at Cullen Family Players hope that you enjoy the next mash-up as well. And we are pleased to announce that Speedward, Speedella, Speedsper, and the Author's Note that Needs to Shut Its Piehole made cameos this week in Jezzeria's crazy story "What in the -Ward." Check it out.**

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer never would have wanted this to happen. Nor would the Wachowski brothers.

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**

**The Twitrix**

**Part the First: The Search for the Or-Wad**

_--Yeah?_

_--Is everything in place?_

_--You weren't supposed to relieve me._

_--I know, but I felt like taking a shift._

_--You like him, don't you? You like watching him._

_--Don't be ridiculous._

_--We're going to kill him—do you understand that?_

_--Carlpheus believes he is the Or-Wad._

_--Do you?_

_--It doesn't matter what I believe._

_--You don't, do you?_

_--Did you hear that?_

_--Hear what?_

_--Are you sure this line is clean?_

_--Yeah, course I'm sure. _

_--I better go._

We're outside the old Tines o' the Fork Motel, which even in its heyday was the seediest joint in town. Since the arson (darn kids), it's just an eyesore and luxury housing for 60-70% of Forks' rat population. Sometimes teens come here to smoke up and fingerbang (darn kids). In this cool, wet evening, cops are swarming in the parking lot. Four cops carefully creep up the stairs. Silently they gather outside room 303. They look at each other and nod. One cop kicks down the door. "Police!" he shouts. "Freeze!"

The room is empty save for a folding table, chair, and laptop. A woman with lustrous, chestnut brown hair sits, her back to the door. She's dressed entirely in skintight black leather. The room is lit only by the sickly glow from the laptop. She doesn't seem alarmed at the intrusion and merely continues to type.

"Get your hands behind your head!" bellows the big cop.

The woman stands up slowly, her back still to the cops.

"Your hands! Behind your head! Now!"

She languidly puts her hands behind her head.

Outside the motel, an unmarked black car smoothly pulls into the parking lot. A man in an impeccably-fitted black suit steps out. Even in the darkness of night, he is wearing sunglasses. He's got an earpiece in. He glides over to the chief of police so gracefully that it's rather unnerving. Chief Swan shudders a little but isn't sure why.

"Chief Swan?"

"Oh shit," Chief Swan mutters under his breath.

"You were given specific orders."

"I'm just doing my job. You give me that 'jurisdiction' crap, you can cram it up your ass."

Agent Aro is not ruffled by Chief Swan's coarse language. He carefully enunciates, "The orders were for your protection."

The chief laughs. "I think we can handle one little girl. I sent two units. They'll be bringing her down now."

"No, Chief, your men are already dead."

Inside the motel room, the cops are still advancing slowly on the leather mama. It must be noted that her ass looks pretty awesome in the tight black leather. Three men keep their guns trained on her head, while the fourth walks forward with handcuffs. Right as he reaches to snap the cuff around her slight wrist, the woman moves with impossible speed. She snaps her hand back, breaking his wrist. She goes around to kick him, gets tangled up in the chair, but manages to ram her palm into the guy's nose, doing that thing where a bit of bone goes right into his brain. It's pretty gross. And awesome. Grawesome, even.

It all happens so fast that the other three cops are too shocked to move, but soon they regain their wits. One cop cocks his gun, and the woman, still tangled in the chair, jiggles it off her leg, sending it flying right into the guy. A chair leg impales him right through the belly. More GRAWESOME! One of the remaining two cops starts firing at her ass, but she runs up the fucking wall! Like, literally! Okay, the wall's not literally fucking anything (darn kids), but she does literally run up it, dodging all of the bullets. She runs right to the guy shooting and overpowers him, using his gun STILL IN HIS OWN FUCKING HAND, MAN!!!11!! to shoot the other cop still standing. It's all exploding blood and guts and brain bits. She attempts to run up the wall again but falls on her ass. Luckily, on the way down she sort of lands on the guy's windpipe, killing him in an avalanche of tight-ass-in-leather.

Taking in the four dead cops around her, she hisses, "Shit!" That wasn't supposed to happen. She picks up the phone again. "Carlpheus! The line was traced! I don't know how."

"I know. They cut the hard line."

"Are there any agents?"

"Yes."

"Goddammit!"

"You have to focus. There's a phone on Wells and Laxe. You can make it."

"All right."

"Go."

She drops the phone and bursts out of the room just as Agent Aro enters the hallway with another team of cops. She turns around and leaps out a window. There's a lengthy chase scene I'm not bothering to recap, except to say she leaps from rooftop to rooftop like a superhero, that is, if superheroes tripped a lot. Actually, have you seen "The Greatest American Hero"? It's kind of like that. Luckily, she's got speed on her side to make up for the clumsiness. Agent Aro easily stays right on her heels, jumping as impossibly as she does but with decidedly more grace. It looks a lot like those old Pepe le Pew cartoons, where the cat scrambles like crazy to stay ahead of Pepe and Pepe easily goes _sproing sproing sproing_ in pursuit. So it's _scramble scramble scramble_ followed seconds later by _sproing sproing sproing_.

Still, even with the clumsiness, the leather-clad woman of mystery is able to beat Agent Aro, running to a payphone that has already started to ring. She answers the phone just as a truck barrels toward her. The truck smashes right into the phone booth, knocking it over, but when Agent Aro climbs out of the truck (how'd he get in there?) to examine the rubble, there is no body to be found. Baroo?

Agent Aro is soon joined by Agent Caius and Agent Marcus. Agent Caius looks over the wreckage and says, "She got out?"

Agent Aro, unperturbed, says, "Does it matter?"

Agent Caius says, "The informant is real."

Agent Marcus pipes up, "Yes. We have the name of their next target."

Agent Caius glares at Agent Marcus. That fucker is always trying to steal his thunder. He is _sick_ of it. At the agent holiday party, Agent Marcus found out what Agent Caius was going to wear, and then wore the same thing! Sure, to the untrained eye it was just a bunch of dark suits, but _Agent Caius knew it was the same one_. And when Agent Marcus found out Agent Caius had a crush on that cute redheaded Italian receptionist, Agent Marcus totally boned her! The next day, he would _not_ stop singing "That's Amore!" as Agent Caius cried silently behind his sunglasses. _When the moon-a hits your-a eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore!_

Agent Marcus is a dick.

Agent Caius gives Agent Marcus the stink eye and pushes his way closer to Agent Aro. No _way_ is he going to let Agent Marcus give him the name of the next target. Agent Caius says pointedly, "The name is … Wardo."

Agent Aro takes a step away from Agent Caius. He's so clingy! He nods, taking in the info. "We'll need a search running."

Agent Caius takes another step toward Agent Aro. _Is Agent Aro angry with him or something?_ "It has already begun." He takes another tiny step toward Agent Aro for good measure. The agents' balls _might_ be touching each other a little through the dark suit pants. Yeah. Agent Caius smiles smugly. _Suck it, Agent Marcus. Are __**your**__ balls touching Agent Aro's? Didn't think so._

***

In his squalid bachelor's pad, Edward Cullen sleeps. He sleeps as he often does, head on his desk, computer on, music blaring. He drools a bit onto his sloppily-assembled IKEA desk. It has a name with lots of umlauts and those crazy Os with the slash through it. A particularly loud riff in the music jolts him awake. (No, he's not listening to Debussy's _Clair de lune_. For once.)

His head still on his _Vøltüri_ desk, Edward opens his eyes. He is startled to see that his computer screen is flashing a message: _Wake up, Wardo_.

He sits up. It should be noted that he is wearing a sleeveless shirt. And he's been working out. (Cue fangirl screaming … _now_.)

The message disappears, replaced with another: _The Twitrix has you_.

Edward is sitting ramrod straight. Did some of you titter like schoolgirls at the word "ramrod"?

Did some of you titter like schoolgirls at the word "titter"?

Edward can't believe his eyes. "What the hell?"

He continues to stare at his monitor. _Follow the white rabbit_.

"Follow the white … what?" He clicks a few keys in an attempt to stop the crazy messages. No dice.

Another message pops up: _Knock, knock, Wardo_.

Edward nearly craps himself as someone sounds two loud raps on his door.

"Who is it?" he bellows, trying to sound braver than he feels.

"Crowley."

Whew. Okay. He knows this guy.

"You're two hours late," he grumbles as he opens the door.

"I know; it's her fault," Crowley says, indicating the hot lady on his arm.

"Got the money?"

"Two grand," Crowley says, offering him a wad of cash.

"Okay, hold on," Edward says, grabbing his wad. Yeah, I just said that.

He shuts the door and stashes the cash inside a hollowed out book a la rock hammer inside the Bible in _Shawshank_. He pulls out a small diskette and returns to the door, handing it to Crowley.

"Hallelujah. You're my savior, man. My own personal Jesus Christ."

**A/N: OMIGOD, IS THAT FORESHADOWING?**

Edward groans. "You followed us to this story too?"

**A/N: No. Yes. Maybe. Yes. I mean, no. I mean, look over there!**

Edward snaps his head to the right, seeing nothing. He hears footsteps rapidly running away, then silence. He tries to regain his composure as he warns, "You get caught using that …"

Crowley rolls his eyes. This guy has such a stick up his butt. His toned, toned butt. "Yeah, yeah, this never happened. You don't exist."

"Right."

"Something wrong, man? You look whiter than usual." _More constipated too_, Crowley thinks to himself.

"My computer … you ever get the feeling where you're not sure if you're awake or still dreaming?"

Crowley will probably regret this, but he extends an invitation to the Constipated Hacker anyway. "Hey, it sounds to me like you need to unplug. You know, get some R and R. What do you think, Tanya? Shall we take him with us?"

Tanya is bored. She wants to get to the club right away. "Definitely," she says, hoping this douche will stay home.

Unfortunately, she also has a tattoo of a white rabbit on her shoulder.

The douche blinks a little, seeing the tattoo and remembering the message on his monitor. "Okay," he says uncertainly, grabbing his jacket and following these chuckleheads.

Moments later, they're at Club Fourchettes. Crowley and his boring friends sit at a booth. Edward is bored. Bored, bored, bored. Why did he listen to that stupid monitor? He stands at a distance, watching them from the hallway by the bathrooms.

"Hello, Wardo," a female voice behind him says.

He jumps. When he turns around, he sees a woman with chestnut brown hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a hackneyed description. Hey, it's the skintight-leather lady from the beginning of the movie! Color me shocked.

"How do you know that name?" he asks.

"I know a lot about you," she says simply, advancing on him. She stumbles in her stilettos but tries to turn it into a sexy walk. She is … not entirely successful.

"Who are you?" he asks, eyes narrowed.

"My name … is Bellity."

"Bellity," he repeats to himself, wondering where he's heard the name before. "Wait … _the_ Bellity? The Bellity that broke into the DoD database and leaked the _Midnight Sun_ manuscript?"

"That was a long time ago."

"Jesus."

"What?" she narrows her eyes. She knows what's coming.

"I mean, I just thought you were, you know, a guy."

"Most guys do," she says, unimpressed.

"It was you on the computer … how did you do that?"

"Jesus, Wardo. Have you heard of 'Instant Messenger'?"

He just looks at her blankly.

"Never mind. All I can tell you right now is that you are in danger. I brought you here to warn you."

"Of what?"

"They're watching you, Wardo."

"Who is?"

Bellity leans up against Wardo, speaking intimately into his ear. "I know why you're here, Wardo. I know what you've been doing. I know why you hardly sleep, why you live alone, and why night after night you sit at your computer. You're looking for him. I know, because I was once looking for the same thing. And when he found me, he told me I wasn't really looking for him. I was looking for an answer. It's the question that drives us mad. It's the question that brought you here. You know the question just as I did."

Edward mostly thinks, _Boobies_, as they are pressed pretty solidly against him in the narrow hallway. But he pretends he's paying attention, asking, "'What is the Twitrix?'" _Boobies, boobies, boobies_, his mind adds.

"The answer is out there, Wardo. It's looking for you. And it will find you, if you want it to."

Edward nods. "Boobies," he says. _Oops_.

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**Next: Enter the Twitrix!**


	8. Twitrix 2: Enter the Twitrix

**A/N: I seem to have a thread on Twilighted for this story. You can find it under Fanfic, Crackfic. Yeah. Thanks, jezzeria. I think. Shoutout to my peeps at Ravelry!  
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**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer never would have wanted this to happen. Nor would the Wachowski brothers.**

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* * *

The Twitrix**

**Part the Second: Enter the Twitrix**

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" Edward slams down the snooze button on his alarm clock, which has been buzzing for nearly an hour. Late. Again.

When Edward arrives at work, he is immediately summoned to his supervisor's office. His ass clenches, anticipating a figurative (or perhaps literal) reaming. It should be noted that his anal sphincter is sometimes clairvoyant.

His anal sphincter goes by the name of _Renesmee_ and has been contemplating setting up its own psychic hotline. Renesmee dreams about getting a tiny smoking jacket and a monocle and maybe a little pipe. Renesmee has big Hugh Hefner sartorial dreams. Edward is actually quite unaware of the profitable side business Renesmee has been running for years now, an illegal poker (no pun intended) parlor the sphincter runs after Edward falls asleep.

Right now Renesmee knows your thoughts: you are wondering how an anal sphincter runs an illegal poker parlor when it has no hands. Renesmee acknowledges your question but then slips you a crisp Benjamin to keep you quiet. You open your mouth to ask Renesmee how it just handed you a crisp Benjamin when it has no hands, which is the reason it handed you the crisp Benjamin in the first place. Before you can ask, however, Renesmee hands you another crisp Benjamin, because Renesmee is slick. Not literally. Not at the moment, at least. But Wednesdays are Manwich days at the company cafeteria and …

**A/N: Okay that even sickened me a little. Sorry about that.**

Renesmee gives no one in particular the evil [brown] eye.

Edward and Renesmee enter Edward's supervisor's office with trepidation (and in the case of the latter, also a tiny green eyeshade, which it had forgotten to take off after last night's poker-dealing shenanigans).

"Mr. Cullen," says Edward's supervisor, one Mr. Stefan.

"How come no one ever acknowledges me?" mutters Renesmee. Since neither Edward nor Mr. Stefan speaks Toot, all they hear is something like "pffft." Edward coughs uncomfortably, trying to mask the sound.

"Ahem," Mr. Stefan says with some disgust. Did that guy just toot? Seriously? "Mr. Cullen," he begins again, "you seem to have a problem with authority. You believe that you are special, that somehow the rules do not apply to you. Obviously you are mistaken. The time has come to make a choice, Mr. Cullen. Either you choose to be at your desk on time from this day forward or you choose to find yourself another job. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mr. Stefan," Edward says.

"What a douche," says Renesmee, but what comes out sounds more like, "Pfft pfffffft." Edward coughs uncomfortably again.

Edward walks back to his cubicle and boots up his computer. He sighs heavily, preparing for yet another day of drudgery.

A FedEx guy clears his throat. "Edward … Cullen?"

"Yeah, that's me."

FedEx guy hands Edward a package and leaves. By which I mean that he hands him the package and then departs, not that he hands him a package and several "expanded organ[s] of a plant, produced laterally from a stem or branch, or springing from its root."[1] Oh, English language, you are so amusing!

Meanwhile, back in the cubicle, Edward touches his package all over. Yeah, I just said that. He rips his package open (owww, not sexy anymore) and pulls out … a cell phone. Which immediately starts ringing. Baroo?

"H-hello?" Edward says.

"Hello, Wardo," says a chill voice. Like, subzero chill. Haha, that's not a vampire pun. A punpire. I mean, a vampun. "Do you know who this is?"

"Carlpheus," Edward says without hesitation.

"It's Carlph—wait, how did you know that? I don't think Bellity mentioned my name at the club last night."

"I … I don't know," Edward says, also puzzled.

"Stupid fuck," mutters Renesmee, "_I_ told you that."

But of course all Edward hears is, "Pfffft toot pfffffffft."

"Did you just sit on a duck or something?" asks Carlpheus.

"Um, nooooooo," says Edward.

"Anyway," says Carlpheus, "I've been looking for you, Wardo. I don't know if you're ready to see what I want to show you, but unfortunately you and I have run out of time. They're coming for you, Wardo, and I don't know what they're going to do."

"Who's coming for me?"

"Stand up and see for yourself. Do it slowly. The elevator."

Edward prairie dogs out of the cubicle and sees Agents Aro, Marcus, and Caius strutting with purpose from the elevator. They are flanked by cops. It looks like serious business. SRS BSNS, even.

"Oh _shit_," panics Edward.

"Yes." The motherfucker is still subzero chill.

"What the hell do they want from me?"

"I don't know, but if you don't want to find out I suggest you get out of there."

"How?"

"I can guide you, but you must do exactly as I say." Still subzero chill.

"Okay," Edward assents.

Carlpheus purrs in his chill subzero way, "The cubicle across from you is empty."

"What if they …"

Carlpheus cuts him off. "Go … _now_!" Okay, that last bit may have been perhaps slightly superzero chill.

Edward scuttles across to the other cubicle like … like a hermit crab on methamphetamines. Right after he gets to the other cubicle, the three agents and the po-po reach his cubicle. They are surprised to find it vacant.

Carlpheus warns, "Stay here for just a moment. When I tell you, go to the end of the row, to the office at the end of the hall."

Clutching the phone to his ear, Edward meticulously follows Carlpheus's commands, ending up in the vacant office.

"Outside there is a scaffold," Carlpheus continues to instruct.

"How do you know all this?"

"We don't have time, Wardo. To your left there's a window. Go to it.... Open it. You can use the scaffold to get to the roof."

"No way. No way. This is crazy."

Renesmee agrees with Edward with a … nod of sorts. _How can it nod when it has no neck?_ _Wait, where did this crisp Benjamin come from?_

Calmly, Carlpheus states, "There are two ways out of this building. One is that scaffold, the other is in their custody. You take a chance either way. I leave it to you."

"This is insane. Why is this happening to me? What did I do? I'm nobody … Shit … I can't do this."

Still, he gives it the old college try, stepping onto the scaffold. It's windy, and he's rather high up. Renesmee is twitching almost uncontrollably. Her sphincter sense is tingling! Edward drops the phone and thinks that maybe incarceration isn't so bad after all.

Renesmee disagrees. Vehemently.

Faced with the choice of plummeting to his death or going with the agents, Edward chooses the latter. Agent Marcus makes a big show in front of Agent Aro, grabbing Edward roughly by the arm and escorting him to the police car. Agent Caius stares daggers at him. Fuck no, he's not going to be outdone. Stealing his thunder! Goddammit. He rushes forward and grabs Edward's other arm, but more _roughly_. He tries to do his most fierce walk. His agent catwalk.

Agent Caius _struts_.

Agent Aro, walking several paces behind the two agents and Edward, watches this display. _Why on earth is Agent Caius wiggling his ass at me?_ he wonders. _Is he coming on to me? I mean, I don't have a __**problem**__ with that per se, but, well, it's inappropriate workplace behavior_. _Now, look at Agent Marcus! That's a fine agent: professional, authoritative. I'll have to bring this up at weekly meeting._

As the agents roughly push Edward into the cop car, Bellity, watching from her motorcycle sideview mirror, hisses, "Shit!" She revs up the chopper and drives away, nearly taking out a Boy Scout helping a blind person cross the street.

The agents soon have him downtown in an interrogation room.

Agent Aro paces in front of Edward, who is seated at a table with his hands nervously folded in his lap. Agent Aro drops a thick manila folder on the table.

"As you can see, we've had our eye on you for some time now, Mr. Cullen. It seems that you've been living two lives. In one life, you're Edward Cullen, program writer for a respectable software company: you have a social security number, you pay your taxes, and you help your landlady carry out her garbage. The other life is lived in computers, where you go by the hacker alias Wardo and are guilty of virtually every computer crime we have a law for. We also have on some authority that you are running an illegal poker parlor from your apartment."

Renesmee snaps to attention. "What? Fuck, fuck, fuck!" it frets. "They're onto me!" It considers wearing a disguise, perhaps a small mustache.

Edward shifts in his seat.

Agent Aro continues, "One of these lives has a future, and one of them does not. I'm going to be as forthcoming as I can be, Mr. Cullen. You're here because we need your help. We know that you've been contacted by a certain individual, a man who calls himself Carlpheus. Now whatever you think you know about this man is irrelevant. He is considered by many authorities to be the most dangerous man alive. My colleagues believe that I am wasting my time with you, but I believe that you wish to do the right thing. We're willing to wipe the slate clean, give you a fresh start, and all that we're asking in return is your cooperation in bringing a known terrorist to justice."

Edward considers everything Agent Aro is saying. "Yeah. Wow, that sounds like a really good deal. But I think I got a better one. How about I give you the finger," he says, flipping him the bird, "and you give me my phone call."

With barely veiled contempt, Agent Aro says, "Mr. Cullen. You disappoint me."

"You can't scare me with this Gestapo crap. I know my rights. I want my phone call."

"Tell me, Mr. Cullen, what good is a phone call if you're unable to speak?" Agent Aro looks at Edward pointedly.

Edward attempts to say, "You are full of shit," but he … cannot open his mouth. It's all, like, glued together and shit. His eyes open wide in horror, and he jumps out of his seat.

Agents Marcus and Caius run up to him, grab his arms, and push him onto the table. With nimble fingers they undo the buttons on his shirt.

"Ruh roh," Renesmee attempts to say, but its mouth has also been glued together. These agents are _thorough_. Sheeit.

The agents look over Edward's physique appraisingly. "Nice abs!" says Agent Caius, impressed.

Agent Marcus scoffs. "Dude. Those abs are clearly spray-tanned on."

"B-but," Agent Caius tries to defend, "look at that definition!"

"God, you're dumb," Agent Marcus says. "I suppose you also believe that that redheaded tart's tits are real. I got a real handful and mouthful, and let me tell you," Agent Marcus suddenly breaks out singing in a screechy heavy metal falsetto, "_Take me down to the Silicone City_!"

Agent Caius's lower lip trembles. He's trying to keep his shit together. _I won't let that fucker see me cry. I won't. I won't._

Agent Marcus notices the quivering lip. "What are you gonna do, Caius? What are you gonna do? You gonna cry? Baby Caius is gonna cry?"

Agent Caius drops Edward's arm and runs out of the room sobbing.

Agent Aro and Agent Marcus look at each other and shrug.

Agent Aro turns back to Edward. "Anyway, as I was saying, you're going to help us, Mr. Cullen, whether you want to or not." He removes a small tube from his pocket, pops the cap off, and turns it upside down. The small, metallic object inside starts to wiggle and morph into this squiggly bug thing. It dives headfirst into Edward's twee bellybutton. Edward thrashes and screams behind his spackled mouth. Right as the weird squiggly bug thing disappears entirely, Edward sits up, all _sweaty_ and _disheveled _and _panting_ and tangled up in the sheets of his bed. He's in his bed! He looks down to see his bellybutton, but what it really looks like is that he jizzed in his pants.

Was it all just a dream?

Edward jumps as the phone starts ringing. Carlpheus begins to speak without waiting to hear Edward answer. "This line is tapped, so I must be brief. They got to you first, but they've underestimated how important you are. If they knew what I know, you'd probably be dead."

"What are you talking about? What … what is happening to me?"

"You are the Or-Wad, Wardo. You see you may have spent the last few years looking for me, but I've spent my entire life looking for you. Now do you still want to meet?"

"Yes."

Renesmee also says, "Yes." But it comes out more like "poot."

"Then go to the Adam Street Bridge."

Edward quickly hurries to the bridge. It is pouring rain, so he's all … _drenched_ with his hair all flopping into his eyes. His shirt is wet and semitransparent, and we might be able to make out nipples. I'm just sayin'.

A car screeches to a stop in front of him. Bellity kicks open the door but gets the heel of her leather boots stuck in the handle. "Get in," she says.

Once Edward is inside, she tries to close the door gracefully with her leg but uses too much force and pries the door handle off instead. The handle goes flying and hits her squarely in the forehead. She's knocked onto her back on the backseat floor mats.

Edward looks inside the car. A woman with cropped, bleached blonde hair sits in the front seat and trains a gun right at Edward's head. In our world, we may know her as Lauren Mallory, but in crazy Twitrix world, she is known simply as Bitch. And occasionally, Bitch, Please.

"What the hell is this?" he asks, concerned.

Bellity tries to calm him, saying, "It's necessary, Wardo. For our protection."

"From what?"

She answers, "From you. Take off your shirt."

"Dude! I mean, you're hot and all, but this is hardly the time!"

Bitch snits, "Stop the car." Once Jaspoc has done so, she says to Edward, "Listen to me, Copper-top."

"Copper-top? Why do these fics always describe my hair as copper? That description's a bit tired, don't you think?"

Bitch rolls her eyes. "First of all, I was making a clever reference to Duracell batteries that won't make sense until we give you the whole backstory. But look: you just killed it. Thank you so much. Secondly, we don't have time for twenty questions. Right now there's only one rule: our way or the highway."

"Bitch, please," he says, giving the "talk to the hand" gesture. He opens the car door, prepared to walk.

Bellity climbs off the floor of the car and kneels between his legs. She places her hands on his knees and leans in closely as she says, "Please, Wardo. You have to trust me."

"Beeeeeej," Edward says. _Oops._ "And by 'beeeeeej,' of course I mean, 'why?'" _Good recovery. I'm sure she bought that._

Renesmee scoffs.

Bellity pleads her case. "Because you have been down there, Wardo. You know that road. You know exactly where it ends. And I know that's not where you want to be."

She addresses the driver. "Jaspoc, lights." To Edward she says, "Lie back, lift up your shirt."

"Do I get Mardi Gras beads?" asks Edward, eyes shining.

"No, you do not get Mardi Gras beads."

Edward pouts.

Bellity takes out this freaking gigantic … ultrasound … thing … with a suction cup and pointy … things and a crazy big electromagnet. I think.

"What is that thing?" Edward is secretly hoping it is some kind of awesome sex machine.

"We think you're bugged." She places the … thing on his bare belly. "Try and relax."

She looks through the scope, muttering, "Come on. Come on."

She sees some movement. "I think I've got it!"

She clamps down on something.

"Yeowch!" Edward yelps.

"Sorry, I thought I had the bug."

"That was my _boner_."

"Sorry, sorry."

Bitch snickers.

Bellity says, "No, I think I've got it now." She flips on the electromagnet, and the bug strains against Edward's spray-tanned abs until it BURSTS right out of there and into a glass container. The bug is all covered in slime and goo and blood, kind of like a newborn baby. It is, shall we say, grawesome.

Having just seen his abdomen give birth to a metal bug covered in funky metal bug vernix and placenta, Edward says, "Jesus Christ, that thing's real?" By way of answer, Bellity tosses the grawesomeness out the window.

The bug business behind them, Jaspoc drives to a majestic, abandoned hotel. Jaspoc, Bitch, Bellity, and Edward get out and go inside.

Outside the door to Carlpheus's hideout, Bellity stops to talk to Edward. "This is it. Let me give you one piece of advice. Be honest. He knows more than you can imagine." She opens the double doors and ushers Edward inside.

Standing with his back to the two stands a tall, handsome man in a floor-length leather jacket. He looks like he might be a doctor, but no. He is no doctor; he is Carlpheus.

As Bellity and Edward approach, he turns around dramatically and smiles. "At last. Welcome, Wardo. As you no doubt have guessed, I am Carlpheus."

"It's an honor to meet you."

"No, the honor is mine. Please, come. Sit down. I imagine that right now you're feeling a bit like Alice, tumbling down the rabbit hole? Hm?"

"Is she in this story?"

"What?"

"Alice?"

"Who?"

"You know, about yay tall, crazy hair, pixie, shopaholic?"

Silence, punctuated with a few awkward cricket chirps.

_Awkward_.

Carlpheus goes on speaking as if nothing has happened. "I can see it in your eyes. You have the look of a man who accepts what he sees because he is expecting to wake up. Ironically, this is not far from the truth. Do you believe in fate, Wardo?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't like the idea that I'm not in control of my life."

Renesmee shakes with silent laugher.

Carlpheus wonders why Edward is shifting from foot to foot as if he has ants in the pants. "I know exactly what you mean. Let me tell you why you're here. You're here because you know something. What you know you can't explain. But you feel it. You've felt it your entire life. That there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is but it's there, like a splinter in your mind driving you mad. It is this feeling that has brought you to me. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"The Twitrix?"

"Do you want to know what IT is?"

Edward nods.

"The Twitrix is everywhere. It is all around us, even now in this very room. You can see it when you look out your window or when you turn on your television. You can feel it when you go to work, when you go to church, when you pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth."

"What truth?"

"That you are a slave, Wardo. Like everyone else you were born into bondage, born into a prison that you cannot smell or taste or touch. A prison for your mind. Unfortunately, no one can be told what the Twitrix is. You have to see it for yourself."

Carlpheus takes out a slim silver case and opens it. He hides something in each fist and puts the case away. He holds his closed hands, palms down, in front of Edward. "This is your last chance. After this there is no turning back. You take the blue pill, the story ends; you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes."

Edward snickers. "That sounds dirty."

Carlpheus shoots him a death glare.

Edward shrugs and begins to reach for the red pill.

Carlpheus cautions, "Remember, all I'm offering is the truth, nothing more."

Edward swallows the red pill. Carlpheus stands and commands, "Follow me."

He leads Edward into another room, this one filled with monitors and wires and more leather-clad folks.

He calls out jovially, "Jaspoc, are we online?"

"Almost."

Carlpheus apologizes to Edward, "Time is always against us. Please, take a seat there."

Bitch removes Edward's jacket, and he sits down. Bellity comes over and attaches some paddles to Edward's skin.

Carlpheus exposits, "The pill you took is part of a trace program. It's designed to disrupt your input/output carrier signal so we can pinpoint your location."

Edward says, "Baroo?"

From behind some crazy goggles, a lanky, shirtless ponytailed guy in a leather jacket pipes up, "It means buckle your seat belt, Dorothy, because Kansas is going bye-bye."

Edward says, "Wow. Did you just say that?"

Lanky ponytailed guy, whose name happens to be James, says, "What? What's wrong with that?"

Edward says, "Well, it's just, like, totally _labored_ and not funny. That was just incredibly awkward."

"_That_ was awkward? What about your spray-tanned abs? That's some awkward shit there. Don't call _me_ awkward, you floppy, spray-tanned mofo."

Edward stands up. So does James. It looks like it's going to be a bigger dick contest until Carlpheus steps in between them.

"James," he warns. "None of that, now."

James fumes.

Edward says, "Whoa, his name is James? I mean, how come the rest of you have cool mashed-up names like Bellity and Bitch and Carlpheus and Jaspoc? And then this cocksucker is just James?"

Carlpheus sighs. "It was supposed to be, like, unsettling, and foreshadowing and shit, but now you've gone and pointed it out to everyone."

James says, "Yeah, nice going, asswipe."

Edward grabs his balls in James's general direction in the universal "what the fuck ever" gesture.

Carlpheus tries to ease the tension by saying, "Have you ever had a dream, Wardo, that you were so sure was real? What if you were unable to wake from that dream? How would you know the difference between the dream world and the real world?"

Bellity interrupts, "It's going into replication."

Carlpheus once again asks, "Jaspoc?"

Jaspoc says, "Still nothing."

Edward starts twitching.

Carlpheus looks mildly concerned. He jabs a button on his cell phone and says, "Tankett, we're going to need a signal soon."

Bellity says, "We've got fibrillation."

Carlpheus demands, "Jaspoc, location."

Jaspoc snaps, "Targeting almost there."

Bellity worries, "It's going into arrest."

Jaspoc says triumphantly, "Lock, I've got him."

Carlpheus looks around at everyone and says, "Now." Carlpheus, Bellity, Jaspoc, Bitch, and Just James leap onto Edward all at once, teeth bared, and each nom on a different part of him.

Huh. It turns out they were vampires.

"Motherfucker," says Renesmee, but it sounds more like "fweeeeeeeeeeeeee."

"Did you guys hear something?" asks Bellity, nipping Edward's forearm like a big corn on the cob.

* * *

[1] Oxford English Dictionary, 3rd Edition.

**

* * *

Next: How Come You're Much Hotter in the Twitrix?**


	9. Ttrix3:You’re Much Hotter in the Twitrix

**A/N: Hey, remember me? Sorry about the long time, no update thing. I was busy with a new story ("Sleepers, Awake," in profile). Totally cheating on you. I am a fic-philanderer. I am sorry. Oh, baby, let me buy you a Kobe Bryant purple diamond to make it up to you. **

**This story is up for two Indie Twific Awards, Best Crackfic and Best Use of Comedy! So if the spirit moves you or your talking sphincter (who must be at least thirteen years of age) to vote, please do so! www(dot)theindietwificawards(dot)com. Thanks for the nomnomnoms!**

**Kisses to the Rav Ladies!**

**Disclaimer: ****Stephenie Meyer never would have wanted this to happen. Nor would the Wachowski brothers.**

**

* * *

The Twitrix**

**Part the Third: ****How Come You're Much Hotter in the Twitrix?**

Edward wakes up in a sea of goo. No, I don't mean the normal, like, falling asleep mid-jack-off goo, unless he's got a nozzle like a gas pump. [Cue fangirl squealing.] No, he's drowning in some thick ooey gooey shit. He punches through the membrane of the pod he's in just like that old game on "The Price Is Right" where you punch in and pull out pieces of paper. What was that game called? Punch Out?

**A/N: Don't forget to have your dog or cat spayed or neutered! **

Anyway, he _ruptures the membrane _[cue fangirl squealing] and _pushes _his way through, and it's like some crazy wrong birthing scene as his slime-covered bald head [fangirl squealing abruptly stops] crowns through the tear he's made in the sac thing. He spits out a stream of warm liquid goo and rubs his eyes. What. The. Fuck. Maybe he shouldn't have taken the red pill. He tries to think of the last thing he remembers—those mofos! They were eating him! He checks his arms for bite marks, but he has none. He tries to stand up, but he's both naked [cue fangirl screaming] and covered in goo [cue crickets]. It's also kind of slippery all up in that shit. Renesmee coughs discreetly, sending up a tiny bubble through the goo.

He finally notices that he's got cables hooked all up in his business, even down to his junk. He examines his side. "Huh," he says, "I didn't know I had a built-in USB port." He tries to unplug the cables, but everything is too slippery. He looks down again. "What the fuck? I have a SCSI port too? Those suck! I'm so old school!"

Edward, or _Wardo_ as we shall call him now that he has escaped the Twitrix (_Edward_ is his slave name), looks around at his surroundings. Pods, pods, everywhere, and not a drop to drink. But a hell of a lot of goo. What is this place? In the distance, big robot-looking … thingies are wandering around, checking vitals of the things in the pods.

Finally, a clunky spaceship putters into sight, sounding just like the flying cars on "The Jetsons." The belly of the ship opens, and long clippers come out and snip off the cables attached to Wardo's body. Then a huge vacuum with a seriously gargantuan nozzle [oh baby] _thrusts _its way out of the belly and begins to _suck_. Wardo cannot resist the immense suction and is soon in the belly of the ship, naked and gooey and very, very confused.

"Welcome to the real world," says Carlpheus.

Standing around him are Carlpheus, Bellity, Tankett, Bitch, Jaspoc, and Just James, except instead of looking all sharp with the good hygiene and the snappy designer clothing, they're all grubby and wearing clumsily made burlap scraps. It looks like the sort of thing you'd find at _Planet of the Apes_ Ape*Mart in the Dr. Zaius collection, sewn in Third Monkey World sweatshops by blind, malnourished monkey orphans.

"Wait, wait, I'm on 'The Real World'? Like, 'This is the _true story_ about how six strangers—_six strangers_,'" he adds in a higher, feminine voice, before returning to his normal baritone, "'are picked to live in a house' … and all that? I don't remember auditioning. What is this, 'The Real World: Ass Ship'?"

Everyone looks at Wardo and then back to themselves in an "_Oh shit, is this numbnuts really supposed to be the Or-Wad?_" way.

"Why are you guys staring at me?" he finally asks, sitting up and attempting to cover his gooey junk with his hands. "And why do you all look like ass? And what the _fuck_ was up with all that biting? You guys are vampires?"

"Ah, Wardo, Wardo," says Carlpheus in his big burlap caftan with nasty armpit stains (it's hard to find Clorox in the real world), "unfortunately that's the way the tracer program works. We had to bite you so the venom would show up on our monitors."

"Wait, so am I a vampire now?"

"Only in the Twitrix."

"Uh … _okay_."

Dear Reader, I am as confused as you are by Carlpheus's explanation, as is poor Wardo.

Speaking of Wardo, the effort of processing his possibly-maybe-vampire status is the monkey straw that monkey broke the monkey Or-Wad's back, and he slumps to the floor and passes out spread-eagle, giving the whole crew an unobstructed view of all his gunked-up junk. Renesmee can feel their stares and mumbles, "Why don't you just take a fucking picture? It'll last longer," but of course all they hear is, "Burble pop _pooooeeeeet_."

Just James says, "I don't know what you guys are thinking, but can we put him on the low-fiber gruel?"

***

_Meanwhile, back in the Twitrix …_

"Unacceptable!" Agent Aro pounds his fists on the table. "How could you let Wardo escape?"

"But, sir!" says Agent Marcus. "We were monitoring him! He was being traced! The informant is real! This is all Agent Caius's fault anyway. He was asleep at the monitor last night."

"I was _not_," says Agent Caius, giving Agent Marcus a death glare. "I was, uh," he drops his voice, "_watching porn_."

"Oh, and that's _so much better_," says Agent Aro.

"But … but …"

"I don't want to hear about your _dirty butt porn_," snaps Agent Aro.

"I'm just saying, Agent Marcus put me up to it!" It's true. Agent Marcus totally DickRolled Agent Caius. He'd said he'd found a link to cheat codes for _Legend of Zelda_, but the link went to sausage-fest pr0n.

Agent Marcus coolly says, "I have no idea what Agent Caius is going on about. I was dutifully filling out my expense reports, and I look over, and Agent Marcus is dead asleep with his hands down his pants. It was disgusting. So unprofessional."

"I'm disappointed in you," says Agent Aro to Agent Caius. "And no one likes a tattler. Especially one who lies."

"But, sir! It's his word against mine! Why do you always take his side?"

Agent Aro sighs. "Because, my dear Agent Caius, you are a whiny little bitch," he says matter-of-factly. "Now, let's discuss strategies to—"

But before he can finish his sentence, Agent Caius has run out of the room crying. Again.

Agents Aro and Marcus exchange Meaningful Glances with each other. "He's on the verge of a breakdown," clucks Agent Aro.

"If he loses it, can I have his Swingline stapler?"

"But of course."

Agent Marcus does an inner fist pump, which sounds like something dirty but is not.

"Screw this Wardo business. Let's go golfing," says Agent Aro. "Don't tell Agent Caius where we're going. He's such a hot mess."

Agent Marcus does a double inner fist pump, which sounds even dirtier. "_Sweet_," he says, whistling a little as he goes to his office to fetch his golf bag.

***

Wardo is vaguely aware that he's strapped to a table, with more electrodes hooked in all his ports. He looks down and notices they've put in an adaptor for his old school SCSI port to make him compatible with the high-tech gizmos. He feels rather embarrassed. "Whuh … what's going on?" he mumbles.

Carlpheus strides over to his side. "Your muscles have atrophied. We're rebuilding them."

"Ow," Wardo says, shifting a little. "Why does my peen hurt?"

"Because you've never used it before."

Edward panics. _What? What? No! No, this can't be happening!_ He calms himself and says, "Maybe you should hook up one of those electrodes up to little Wardo, if you know what I'm saying."

"In fact, I _do_ know what you are saying, and the answer is no."

Wardo sighs. "Do I have to slip you a ten-spot to get the happy ending on the muscle atrophy reversal … thing?"

Tankett and Jaspoc, overhearing the conversation from their stations at the monitors, give each other a look. Tankett mouthes, "We are _fucked_." Jaspoc nods in agreement.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," says Carlpheus to Wardo.

"I mean, what if little Wardo doesn't work outside of the Twitrix? Who'll keep me company on those long nights? Those lonely movies? Those rides on the bus? Those afternoons sitting on park benches waiting for the ice cream truck?"

Carlpheus gestures toward Tankett. When Tankett nears, Carlpheus says, "Can you up his pain meds? I … think he needs to rest. And by 'rest,' I possibly mean, 'STFU,'" he adds under his breath. Tankett nods and ups Wardo's valium drip.

***

Wardo wakes up on a dingy cot. He's been washed and scrubbed clean of goo, and they've found him some unflattering burlap pieces from the Dr. Zaius collection. "Damn," he mutters, looking over himself, "I never thought I could miss, like, sweatpants and t-shirts so much." He feels around his bald head and notices there's some sort of outlet on the back. Creepy.

Carlpheus opens the door to his room. "Ah, Wardo, you're awake."

"What's happened to me, Carlpheus? What is this place?"

"The more important question is _when_."

"Okay, then, when?"

"You believe the year is 2009, when in fact it is closer to 2209. I can't say for certain what year it is, because the Dr. Zaius collection doesn't extend its merchandising to calendars."

"That's not possible."

"No, really, I've written several letters asking them to extend their collection to more common household objects."

"I meant about the year."

"Oh. Well. I promised you the truth, Wardo, and the truth is that the world you were living in was a lie."

"How?"

"I'll show you." Carlpheus leads the way out of Wardo's room and into the hallway.

He motions around himself. "This is my ship, the Nebuchadmeyer. It's a hovercraft. Small like a submarine. It's dark. It's cramped and cold. But it's home. And most importantly, it sounds like a space car from 'The Jetsons,' a feature which cost a bit extra but is totally worth it. Because it makes me a fucking badass."

They climb up a ladder into the main deck. The entire crew is sitting in burlap, watching them.

"You know most of my crew." The crew waves to Wardo. Wardo tries to flash a gang sign to look tough, but he just embarrasses everyone.

"Dude, did Wardo just flash us the Shocker?" Jaspoc whispers to Tankett.

"Afraid so," he whispers back.

"Hey," Wardo nods toward Bellity, who wears a shapeless burlap shift thing. Bellity politely nods back. "How come you're much hotter in the Twitrix? What happened to the pleather? If we're living in the future, why haven't we made major advancements in leather and leather-like garments? What happened to your fantastic knockers?"

"We are _fucked_," Tankett whispers again to Jaspoc.

Carlpheus leads Wardo to a circle of Barcaloungers with wires and monitors and batteries and a bunch of other stuff that looks cool but that I cannot describe because I totally have no idea how any of this shit works. Carlpheus gestures to one of the chairs, asking Wardo to have a seat. "You wanted to know what the Twitrix is, Wardo?"

Bellity says, "Try to relax. This will feel a little weird."

Wardo says, "Finally! Little Wardo's finest hour." He does this little butt wiggle thing in anticipation.

She rolls her eyes at him as Carlpheus inserts a cable into the slot on Wardo's head. That all sounded dirty. I'm not sure how dirty it's meant to be. Can we have a ho-yay?

**A/N: HO-YAY! **

Thanks. Anyway, suddenly Wardo opens his eyes, and he's in a room that is completely white and devoid of furniture.

"The Twitrix is a Gap ad?" he mutters to himself with disappointment. "Lamesauce."

"No, Wardo, we're in the Construct."

Wardo whips his head around to see Carlpheus behind him, no longer in the fugly caftan, but in a fuckhot trenchcoat. Wardo notices with relief that his own clothes are once again not made by Third Monkey World monkey orphans.

"It's our loading program," Carlpheus continues. "We can load anything from clothing, to equipment, weapons, training simulations, anything we need."

"Can you load in hot nursing twins? Barely legal cheerleaders?" Wardo's eyes glisten at the possibilities.

"Uh, I suppose we _could_, but aren't you more concerned about saving the human race?"

"Do I look like Ghandi?" Wardo asks.

Carlpheus's left eye twitches a little.

"So wait, wait," Wardo says, still trying to understand. "You're saying that right now, we're in a computer program?"

"Is it really so hard to believe? Your clothes are different. Your USB port is missing. Your hair is changed. Your appearance now is what we call residual self-image. It is the mental projection of your digital self."

"In _that _case," Wardo says, pulling the waistband of his pants forward and looking down, "aw hells yeah, little-big Wardo is back! Hiya, fella! Lookin' good, my man." He reaches down to give himself a high (low?) five.

"Wardo, you are aware that … 'little-big Wardo,' as you call him, is not real, right?"

Wardo pouts, still staring down his pants. "This … isn't real? But it looks so awesome!"

"What is real? How do you define real? If you're talking about what you can feel, what you can smell, what you can taste and see, then real is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain. This is the world that you know. The world as it was at the beginning of the twenty-first century. It exists now only as part of a neural-interactive simulation that we call the Twitrix. You've been living in a dream world, Wardo."

Carlpheus gestures, and two chairs materialize out of nowhere, along with a sweet flatscreen TV. He flips the TV on. There's a desolate, _Planet of the Apes_-like landscape on the screen.

"Is there anything else on? I'm not so into Sci-Fi."

**A/N: I prefer to spell it SyFy. And I prefer to pronounce SyFy as "Siffy."**

Carlpheus looks up and says, "And I think you're a fucking moron. 'SyFy'? Really? What the fuck is that? And 'Siffy'? That sounds like some old lady's lapdog or something."

**A/N: I don't judge _your _choices. [flounces]**

"Now, Wardo, direct your attention to the screen. This is no **sci**ence-**fi**ction movie. This is the world as it exists today. Welcome to the Desert of the Real. We have only bits and pieces of information but what we know for certain is that at some point in the early twenty-first century all of mankind was united in celebration. We marveled at our own magnificence as we gave birth to AI."

"AI? You mean that shitty Spielberg movie with that creepy kid from _The Sixth Sense_?"

"Try again, Wardo."

"Oh! Oh! 'American Idol'! I love that shit! I still think Bo Bice was robbed."

"Um, 'Artificial Intelligence.' _God_, weren't you supposed to be this amazing hacker guy? The fuck?"

"Right, right, _that_ AI. Yeah, that was just a-ight, you know, dawg."

"What. Was. That?"

"I'm chillin' like my buddy Randy Jackson, man." Wardo throws "the Shocker" again.

"AS I WAS SAYING, AI was a singular consciousness that spawned an entire race of machines. We don't know who struck first, us or them. But we know that it was us that scorched the sky.

"At the time they were dependent on solar power, and it was believed that they would be unable to survive without an energy source as abundant as the sun. Throughout human history, we have been dependent on machines to survive.

"Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony. The human body generates more bio-electricity than a 120-volt battery and over 25,000 BTUs of body heat. Combined with a form of fusion, the machines have found all the energy they would ever need. There are fields, endless fields, where human beings are no longer born; we are grown.

"For the longest time I wouldn't believe it, and then I saw the fields with my own eyes. Watched them liquefy the dead so they could be fed intravenously to the living. And standing there, facing the pure horrifying precision, I came to realize the obviousness of the truth. What is the Twitrix? Control. The Twitrix is a computer-generated dream-world built to keep us under control in order to change a human being into this." Carlpheus holds a Duracell battery in his hand.

"Oh, _that's_ what they meant by 'Copper-top'!"

"Yeah, and you ruined that, so may we continue?"

"Fine. But I don't believe it. I'm more than a battery, man. I have _feelings_. And _urges_. And _boners_," he adds with a pout.

Carlpheus sighs. "I didn't say it would be easy, Wardo. I just said it would be the truth."

"Stop. Let me out! I want out!"

Back in the Barcalounger room, Wardo is twitching and struggling. Bellity leans in tenderly and whispers, "Easy, Wardo, easy."

Although Wardo is still plugged into the Construct and mostly unconscious, he senses the proximity of Bellity's burlap-covered breasts by his face. His hand reaches up and pokes his finger into the center of one of her boobs. "Doorbell!" he shouts.

Bellity slaps his hand away and backs up. "Caveman," she sneers.

Back in the Construct, Wardo says, "Boobies."

"No, Wardo. No boobies," says Carlpheus.

"No boobies? I want out!" He jumps out of the chair in the Construct and paces a bit before realizing, "I can't go back now, can I?"

Carlpheus puts on his Concerned Dad face. "No. But if you could, would you really want to? I feel I owe you an apology. We have a rule. We never free a mind once it's reached a certain age. It's dangerous; the mind has trouble letting go. I've seen it before, and I'm sorry. I did what I did because I had to.

"When the Twitrix was first built, there was a man born inside who had the ability to change whatever he wanted, to remake the Twitrix as he saw fit. It was he who freed the first of us, taught us the truth. As long as the Twitrix exists the human race will never be free. After he died the Oracle prophesied his return and that his coming would hail the destruction of the Twitrix and the war, bring freedom to our people. That is why there are those of us who have spent our entire lives searching the Twitrix looking for him. I did what I did because I believe that search is over." He smiles benevolently at Wardo.

"ORLY?" Wardo says. "So where is this guy? Do I know him?"

"Um," says Carlpheus.

"It's that Tankett dude, isn't it?"

"Um," says Carlpheus.

"Bo Bice? Is he here? Fuckin' sweet!"

"Why don't you go back to your quarters?" says Carlpheus, patting Wardo's hand. "Get some rest. You're going to need it."

"For what?"

"Your training."

"Fuckin' training with Bo Bice, fuck yeah!" Wardo says, punching triumphantly in the air as he gets unplugged from the Construct.

When Carlpheus is alone again in the white room, he mutters under his breath, "We are _fucked_."

**

* * *

Next: He Knows Kung Fu!**


	10. Twitrix 4: He Knows KungFu

**A/N: Sorry it's been a while. Sleepers, Awake continues to eat my brain. Here is some nice crackfic for you though. Enjoy. There will be two more installments of The Twitrix, followed by a special one-shot won by Team Flippy-Floppies for the Support Stacie auction. Stay tuned!**

**Thanks to Becca Graymoor for … well, I can't say, but it's in this chapter.**

**Follow me on Twitter: feistyybeden. Rock on.**

**Disclaimer: ****Stephenie Meyer never would have wanted this to happen. Nor would the Wachowski brothers.**

**

* * *

The Twitrix**

**Part the Fourth: ****He Knows Kung-Fu**

Wardo tosses and turns in his narrow Nebuchadmeyer bunk. Damn, he sort of misses the Twitrix. At least there he had memory foam. Who knew memory foam was an invention of these dastardly machines? He gives up and hops out of bed. Renesmee gives a little frustrated, "Hmph!" noise—it had been having a nice dream about card sharking and a nice hot stone massage from a posh spa in L.A.

Wardo says, "Damn, this real world gruel! It makes me so gassy. I'm never going to get hot—well, burlap-clad—tail with these kinds of digestive issues." He stretches languidly, revealing a muscular bit of flesh between his burlap wifebeater and his burlap yoga pants. There's a little trail, perhaps one could even call it "happy," leading from his perfect little navel right down to his kielbasa. [Cue fangirl squeeing.]

There is pounding on the door. "What up?" says Wardo. "I'm already awake."

It's Tankett. "Did you sleep?" he asks, filling the entire doorframe with his manly bulk. Oh yeah, I said "manly bulk."

"Not so much," says Wardo. "I miss my eggcrate and my memory foam and my Mister Snugglepuss, uh, I mean my killer nunchucks. Can't sleep without my … killer nunchucks in the bed with me. To ward off, the, you know, bad guys. Evil ninjas and stuff."

"Well, you will tonight. I guarantee it. Training is the best sleep aid ever. Aside from, you know, pounding hole."

"I'm sorry, you aren't my type," says Wardo, looking Tankett over warily. "But—you don't have any hole to pound anyway! What gives? Not even a USB drive?"

Tankett looks at Wardo and shakes his head a little, muttering, "We are _fucked_," under his breath. "Bro, I wasn't born in the Twitrix. I was born the old fashioned way, right here in the real world."

"Ooh, which season?" asks Wardo. "My favorite is the one with Puck."

Tankett grits his teeth. "Uh, I meant, like, here and not in the Twitrix."

"You were born in this room? Ewwww!" says Wardo, hopping from foot to foot as if he were avoiding a sea of placenta and amniotic fluid.

"No, dumbfuck, I _meant_ I was born in Zion, the last human city remaining on earth."

Wardo nods knowingly. "That season with the British dude who got a pig heart for Valentine's Day was pretty cool too."

"Oookay then," says Tankett, trying to change the subject. "I gotta say that I'm pretty excited about today, that is, if Carlpheus is right. I'm not supposed to talk about it, but, you know, just between you and me …"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," says Wardo, hopping up and down excitedly. "You mean …?"

"Yes," says Tankett.

"OH MY GOD BO BICE IS GOING TO BE HERE? I knew Carlpheus wouldn't let me down!"

Have you ever heard a big, burly dude slap himself on the forehead with his meaty palm? It's not a pretty sound. It's sort of like old fashioned ladies beating laundry on rocks in a stream.

"Follow me, Wardo," says Tankett, unable to look him in the eye. "It's time to start training."

"Bo Bice! Fuck yeah!"

Wardo is back in his Barcalounger, all hooked up to his wires and stuff.

Tankett fiddles with the controls. "We're supposed to load in all these fucking Microsoft security patches first, but that's boring as shit, so let's put in something fun."

Wardo looks nervous. "Dude, I told you, I don't swing that way."

"Eh, fuck this. Fine. We'll start with the security patches and the firewall, and a Javascript update. Happy now?"

"Can you put in Minesweeper? I like Minesweeper."

"Yes."

"Awesome!"

"You're going to require a reboot after the update loads."

"Nothing is going in my boot, guy."

"Oh my fucking god, I am not trying to get into your anus, okay, buttmunch?" Tankett finds a stuffed cat doll and punches it in the face.

"Is that my sweet Mister Snugglepuss? Noooooooo!" screams Wardo, but a second later he is quiet as his body hums and whirrs, downloading the Windows security patches and a new version of Internet Explorer that no one will ever, ever use.

Wardo's body shudders and flops around in the chair, and he's muttering something about mines and the obvious 1-2-1 pattern.

"Wardo? How you doing there?" asks Tankett, as Wardo slowly opens his eyes.

"I think that cleared up my syphilis!"

"Uhhh …" says Tankett, coughing uncomfortably. "Okay, now we'll load in the fun stuff. Here's a nice martial arts disk. Also, I thought you'd like this vintage Hunt the Wumpus."

"That game is scary," says Wardo, shivering.

"Okay, no Hunt the Wumpus. But I'll load you up with some cool fighting skills."

Wardo twitches in the chair again as the program loads in.

"How was that?" asks Tankett.

"Whoa," says Wardo.

Some hours later, Carlpheus walks in. "How's my boy doing?"

Tankett says, "Ten hours straight. He's a machine. That, or his processor speed is kind of slow. I mean, SCSI cable? Seriously? It's like he's running on a Pentium Negative 7."

Wardo opens his eyes and sees Carlpheus gazing at him all avuncular-like. I just wanted to use the word "avuncular."

"Wardo? And how goes it?"

"I know kung-fu," he says blankly. He stares at Carlpheus for a second and says, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"You know, like, benevolently in an uncle-like fashion?"

"I am not … okay I am a little. You want to try out those kung-fu skills, little boy?"

**A/N: OMG I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING BUT I AM TOTES NOT GOING TO WRITE CARLPHEUS/WARDO SLASH BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE ICKY.**

**kA/Nye: HEY A/N I'M REALLY HAPPY FOR YOU AND IMMA LET YOU FINISH, BUT GUNS N' ROSES HAD THE BEST SLASH OF ALL TIME. OF ALL TIME!**

**A/N: [stunned silence]**

"Is Bo Bice going to be there?" asks Wardo, punching his fists in the air.

"Um. Sure." Carlpheus hangs his head sadly.

Carlpheus and Wardo are hooked in their Barcaloungers into a cool dojo space. "This is a sparring program, similar to the programmed reality of the Twitrix. Consider this your first lesson."

Wardo looks around. "But where is Bo Bice?"

Carlpheus shouts, "Tankett? Can you just load in Bo Bice into this thing so he'll shut the fuck up?"

Tankett's fingers fly furiously over the keys as he finds a Bo Bice simulator on the … hard drive … or something. Shit, I don't know jack about computer stuff. This is why I don't write sci-fi or have a high-paying job.

Bo Bice materializes before Wardo. Wardo falls to his knees. "Bo! Bo Bice! It … it is an honor."

Bo Bice just blinks.

"Do you know kung-fu, Bo Bice?"

Carlpheus yells up, "Tankett! Load in some kung-fu for the Bo Bice simulation."

Clickety clackety, there goes Tankett.

"Yes, Wardo. Yes I do know kung-fu," says Bo Bice mechanically.

"Ohmigod, what are the _chances_? You, me, here in this dojo, both knowing kung-fu? I … I don't want to sound weird or anything, but I kind of have a little Bo Bice going on in my pants right now, but without your lustrous locks of hair."

"O … kay …" says Bo Bice. He turns to Carlpheus. "Dude. I know I'm just a simulation, but this is seriously creeping my shit out."

"Ignore him," says Carlpheus.

"Are we going to fight now? Huh? Are we? Are we?" asks Wardo, bouncing around. "Oh my god, can you hear that? My balls are clanging together against my mini-Bo Bice, and it sounds like windchimes!"

"Uhhhhhhh," say both Carlpheus and Bo Bice.

"Ahem," Carlpheus. "Wardo. Now, please. Attack me."

Wardo runs for Carlpheus and kicks him in the shin.

"Motherfucking ow!" says Carlpheus. "You're supposed to be showing me your kung-fu, not fighting like a twelve-year-old girl."

"I know kung-fu?" asks Wardo, scrunching up his face.

"YOU JUST SAID YOU DID FIVE MINUTES AGO."

"I did?"

Carlpheus kneads his forehead. "Look. Bo Bice knows kung-fu. Don't you want to try out your kung-fu on Bo Bice?"

"Sweet! Bo Bice is here?"

Carlpheus limps to the side and has a seat, massaging his shin. He watches Bo Bice and Wardo go at it, kung-fu-American-Idol style. By that I mean that they fight, and when the camera goes in for a close-up, they totally eyefuck the television audience. Except, in this case, it's Tankett and Jaspoc, looking on in horror.

"I can't believe Carlpheus thinks he's the Or-Wad," says Jaspoc.

"I know, bro, I know," says Tankett, patting Jaspoc on the shoulder in a manly way. Very manly.

**kA/Nye: GUNS N' ROSES! BEST SLASH OF ALL TIME! OF ALL TIME!**

In the dojo, Carlpheus says, "Okay, I guess we're … done … here," as Wardo and Bo Bice start singing Elton John songs, their kung-fu totally forgotten. "Tankett! Load in the jump program."

"Jumping! That's when my balls sound like windchimes!" says Wardo, clapping his hands delightedly.

"Um. Yes."

The jump program loads. The two seem to stand on top of a tall building in a windy city. "Hey, where did Bo Bice go?" asks Wardo petulantly.

"Bo Bice had to go back to his … uh, he had to meet with the judges."

Wardo pouts.

"You're upset, aren't you, Wardo?"

"Well, yeah! Bo Bice is the shit!"

"You're going to empty yourself of that emotion. You must empty yourself to free your mind."

Wardo looks at him and then stares at his hands. "I have cuticles," he says.

Carlpheus replies, "Uh, yeah. I guess your mind is free enough. Okay, watch me." He takes a running start and leaps off the top of the building and lands easily on the rooftop across the street. "Now you," he says, still rubbing his shin where the little fucker kicked him.

Back in the control room, Tankett and Jaspoc watch the happenings on the monitor. "Think he'll make it?" asks Tankett.

Jaspoc says, "No one ever makes it the first time. Then again, his mind seems … you know … pretty _free_."

Bellity has come into the room. "You can do it, Wardo. I believe in you," she whispers to herself.

Wardo looks down the ledge and gulps. He backs up a few steps and makes a running leap, just as Carlpheus did moments before. It looks like he's going to make it, until he says, "Hey, seriously, where is Bo Bice?" He plummets to the ground. He sinks into the street and bounces back up. Carlpheus meets him at the bottom.

"Everyone falls the first time," says Carlpheus. "If you never know failure, how can you know success?"

The two reawaken in the Barcaloungers. Wardo spits blood into his hand. "Wait, I thought it wasn't real. What happens if I die in the Twitrix?"

"The body cannot live without the mind," says Carlpheus solemnly.

Jaspoc whispers to Tankett, "Then how is this guy even walking around?" The two of them snicker. Carlpheus stares daggers at them.

***

It's nighttime. The ship is dark and quiet. Wardo can't sleep. He's still looking for Bo Bice. He stumbles into the control room and is surprised to find James there.

"Have you seen Bo Bice?" he asks.

James jumps about three feet into the air. "Hey, guy, I didn't see you there. Want a drink?" He offers Wardo a big jug of … something. Wardo takes a sip and sputters. "Yeah, Jaspoc brews that shit. I think it's nail polish remover."

Wardo coughs some more.

"Listen, kid. Carlpheus thinks you're the Or-Wad. But he's been wrong before. So, a piece of advice—just because he tells you that you can jump out of a window, don't do it, okay, buddy?"

Wardo nods and heads back to bed.

***

We're in a fancy ass restaurant, and Just-James sits with Agents Marcus, Caius, and Aro. Just-James is tearing the shit out of a rare piece of steak. "Let me tell you, this real world stuff? Is bullshit. Give me delicious Twitrix steak any day. Fuck Carlpheus. Fuck him. I wish he'd never come for me."

"So, do we have a deal, James?" asks Agent Aro.

"I mean, even my underpants are made of burlap. That shit chafes! My poor testicles."

Agent Aro stares pointedly at James.

Just-James continues, "Okay, I know these silk boxers are just lines of code, that this steak is some fakety thing you've programmed so I'll make the pretty brain waves that power your crazy ass AI world or whatever. I don't really understand this plot. Anyway, yeah, but I'm done. I want back in. Just make me forget everything. Plug me back in. I want to be a battery. I want to eat this fucking steak. I want non-chafing underpants. I want balls smooth as silk. No one likes ball calluses."

"That … can be arranged. I mean, about the steak and underpants. Your balls are up to you. But we will need the codes for Zion."

"I keep telling you, I don't know that. But I can get you the man who does."

Agent Caius raises his hand and bounces up and down in his seat. "Ooh! Ooh! Oh! I know! Pick me! Pick me!"

Agent Marcus looks at Agent Caius and blurts out, "Carlpheus."

Agent Caius slowly lowers his hand. "I _knew_ that. Goddammit, Marcus, why are you always doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Don't you pretend you don't know, you thunder-stealing, hot-redhead-secretary-banging, Pop-Tarts-pilfering …"

"Agent Caius!" shouts Agent Aro. He does not want such displays in front of the mole. "Control yourself."

"You _always_ take his side!" huffs Agent Caius.

"What? I do no such thing."

"It's always Marcus, Marcus, Marcus!" shouts Agent Caius as he pushes himself back from the table and runs crying to the bathroom.

"Ahem, you will have to excuse Agent Caius. He's a little … sensitive," says Agent Aro.

***

Meanwhile, back in the real world, Tankett is giving Wardo a tour of the ship and the control room. It's kind of expository and boring, so I'm skipping it. Blah blah, this does this, this monitors everyone's heart, FORESHADOWING DOOM AHEAD, blah, electromagnetic pulse if the sentries get too close but if someone's still stuck in the Twitrix, they'll be lost forever THIS MIGHT BE IMPORTANT LATER BLAH.

Carlpheus comes up behind them. "Are you ready, Wardo? We're going back into the Twitrix."

"Is Bo Bi—"

Carlpheus claps his hand over Wardo's mouth. "For the last time, Wardo. No. No, Bo Bice will not be there. We are going to see the Oracle."

"The Oral what?" asks Wardo.

"Just get in the chair," says Carlpheus.

Bellity, Carlpheus, Jaspoc, Just-James, Bitch, and Wardo are now in the Twitrix, in the same abandoned hotel where Wardo first met Carlpheus. Wardo pulls Bellity aside. "Did you also see this Oragel?"

"Oracle. And yes."

"What did she tell you?"

"Things."

"About Bo Bice?"

"Uh, no."

"Were any of them true?"

"Some."

"Were they good or bad? Or about Bo Bice?"

"There's no point in worrying. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen."

Bitch and Jaspoc stop at the doors of the Oracle's building. Carlpheus says, "We'll be back in an hour or so."

"Do you understand what it means when we say, 'If you're not one of us, you're one of them'?" asks Carlpheus.

"Well, I can only be myself, right? So if I'm not me, I'm … uh … them?" says Wardo.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhh. Okay, let me put it this way. If a person you see isn't someone you saw on the ship, they can be agents. Anyone can turn into an agent. That's why we try to stay invisible in the Twitrix."

As they walk toward the Oracle's building, Just-James drops a cell phone into a trash bin. The screen lights up ominously as it silently makes a call.

They enter the Oracle's apartment. It's kind of like creepy daycare for wide-eyed Dakota Fanning clones, with shaved heads and cult-like Snuggies. One kid has a fork in his hand. The fork bends and straightens, bends and straightens, as he stares at it.

Wardo picks up a fork and tries to do the same. Frustrated, he just hulks it, bending the fork with his hands. "Stupid fork!" he yells.

"You must believe there is no fork. It is not your fork that bends, but your mind."

"What?"

"There is no fork."

"Duh, I see a fork right here."

The child looks at Wardo and pretends to make eye contact with someone on the opposite side of the room. "I, uh, have to go over there now."

Wardo pokes around and opens a door, following the smell of delicious cookies.

"Hello?" he calls.

"I know—you're Wardo," says a woman, her back to him as she takes out said delicious cookies from the oven.

"You're the Oral-B?"

"The Oracle? Yes. I'd ask you to sit down, but you're not going to. And don't worry about the vase."

"Did you say, 'Don't worry about Bo Bice?'" Wardo asks eagerly, swinging around to see the Sampson-haired singer. He knocks over a vase.

"Oops, sorry about the vase."

"What did I just say?" says the Oracle.

"Um, something about Bo Bice?"

"Sweet Lord Jesus, help me," she mutters. "Well, you're cuter than I thought. I can see why she likes you."

"Bo Bice is a _guy_. I mean, just because he has long hair …"

"Not too bright though."

"He's _totally_ smart. Don't you talk shit about Bo Bice."

"Oh my fucking god, will you lay off the Bo Bice?" shrieks the Oracle, who is embarrassed at her outburst. She runs her fingers through her hair and composes herself. "Excuse me. I meant to ask if you knew why Carlpheus brought you here."

"I think so," he says uncertainly. His mouth is about to form the word "Bo," but the Oracle stops him.

"So what do you think? Do you think you're the Or-Wad?"

"I don't know."

"Well, let's have a look at you."

Wardo perks up. "If I jump up and down, my balls sound like windchimes," he offers.

"Hmm. Yes. The bad news is that you're not the Or-Wad."

"Bummer. What's the good news?"

"The same. You're not the Or-Wad." She adds under her breath, "Because we'd all be so totally _fucked_."

"Huh," he says, looking a little disappointed.

"Here, have a cookie."

The two part ways, and Wardo rejoins the others waiting in the hallway. "Ready to go back?" asks Carlpheus.

"Yeah, that Oral Roberts chick gave me a cookie," he says, spitting cookie crumbs out as he talks.

They head back to the abandoned hotel. As they go up the stairs to the main room, Wardo sees a cat go by twice. "Whoa," he says. "Déjà-vu."

All the others stop in their tracks. "What did you say?"

"Well, like, there was a cat, and then a second later, I saw the cat again."

"Was it the _same_ cat, like exactly the same?" asks Bellity.

"Uh, it was a cat?"

"A déjà-vu is a glitch in the Twitrix. It means they've changed something," explains Carlpheus.

The beating of helicopter propellers fills the air.

"Oh shit!" shouts Bellity.

From the control room, Tankett shouts, "It's a trap!"

Just-James runs from the group, sends a distress call to Tankett, and ends up back on the ship first, all innocent-like. He says, "The agents—they're going to try to take Carlpheus!"

Tankett approaches him, and Just-James shoots him right in the gut. "My bad," says Just-James. Tankett falls over, moaning.

Meanwhile, back in the Twitrix, there's all sort of mayhem as the agents and cops try to corner Carlpheus.

"He must be taken alive!" says Agent Aro. Agent Caius is conspicuously absent.

There's some fisticuffs; I'm not going to lie. But I also don't remember, so let's say that after a really long, awesome, and valiant struggle, the agents have Carlpheus by the balls.

The phone rings. It's Bellity calling. Wardo, Jaspoc, and Bitch are standing by her anxiously. The phone rings and rings, but no one answers. "What could be wrong?" asks Bellity.

"Why hello!" answers Just-James finally.

"James? How did you—?"

He walks around the Barcaloungers to Bellity's unconscious body. "You know, for a long time I thought I was in love with you. I used to dream about you. Sorry things didn't work out."

"You did this. You set us up! You gave them Carlpheus!" says Bellity. "Tell me the truth!"

"The truth? The truth is that the war is over. We lost. Get used to it! Our future as humans is in the Twitrix."

"The Twitrix isn't real!" screams Bellity.

"I disagree, Bellity. All I do here is pull a plug. But over there? You see someone die."

Back on the ship, Just-James walks to Jaspoc. "You, with your piss-poor booze and your Southern gentility and 'darlin's' and stupid ass burlap cowboy boots …" He reaches for Jaspoc's cable. He wraps his hand around it, about to pull, when mysteriously from the fandom, a woman going by the name "Maleficent" appears in the ship and slaps his hand away.

"Nobody is touching Jasper—uh Jaspoc," she says, kicking him in the balls.

"What the hell is that?" Just-James falsettos, limping away.

**A/N: Yeah, uh, sorry about that, but if I let Jasper-Jaspoc die, Maleficent will kill me. So _Maleficent ex machina_—get used to it.**

**kA/Nye: Yo, A/N, I'm really happy for you, and Imma let you finish taking meta-liberties with your narrative, but Euripides had the best _deus ex machina_ of all time. OF ALL TIME.**

Recovering from the testicular kick (if his balls weren't so callused from the burlap underpants, the damage would have been far worse, truefax), Just-James walks over Bitch's Barcalounger. "Guess what, Bitch? I'm just yanking this shit out."

"No! You have to right-click on the icon and wait for the pop-up message saying it's safe to remove the hardware," says Bitch pleadingly.

He pulls the big cable out of Bitch's head.

In the Twitrix, Bitch just falls over dead.

"Goddamn you, James!" yells Bellity.

"Stop with the haterade. I'm just the messenger. And I'm going to prove the message is true."

He walks over to Wardo. "If Carlpheus is right, then I shouldn't be able to pull out Teh Pretteh's cable, right? If he's truly the Or-Wad, then in the next few seconds, something miraculous has got to happen to stop me, doesn't it?"

"I'm _right over here_," hisses Maleficent, sitting on top of the unconscious Jaspoc while wiggling her hips. "Just-coming-out-of-the-Twitrix-wood, don't fail me now," she mutters.

Just-James grabs Wardo's cable (yeah, that sounds totally hot), when Tankett springs up from behind the control booth where he'd collapsed. He plugs Just-James full of bullets.

**kA/Nye: Yo, Tankett, I'm really happy for you, and Imma let you finish killing James, but Robert Ford was the best James killer of all time. OF ALL TIME!**

Tankett struggles forward and takes the phone from Just-Dead-James' hand. "Bellity! It's Tankett. I'm going to get you guys out of there!"

Some technobullshit later, Bellity and Wardo are back in the ship. Jaspoc wakes up as well, surprised to find someone on his lap. "Are you guys all set here?" he asks. "Because if so, I'm going to … head back to my bunk … for a second." He takes Maleficent by the hand, and they disappear, giggling.

"Are you all right, Tankett?" asks Bellity, rushing over to him, tripping, and knocking him down. "Oops."

Tankett groans, but Bellity works her magic, wherein she falls over things but still manages to get the bullet out, clean the wound, and stitch everything up. Accidentally, and through much klutziness.

"Well, that was refreshing!" says Wardo, hopping out of his chair. "When do we go back in? I want another cookie." Renesmee rolls its sphincter eyes. Yes, sphincters have eyes. Shut up. Wardo twitches. "These tightie-burlapies sure give you a wedgie. My crack is all itchy."

Bellity and Tankett look at each other and simultaneously say, "We are _fucked_."

**

* * *

Next: The Or-Wad Emerges!**


End file.
